Molly Von G
by SammyMae
Summary: A spin-off of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, this is a story about Lester's little sister. In Friday, Stephanie wondered how much trouble a florist can find herself in? This story explains exactly how much. S/R Established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So here is Molly! It's from the Thursday, Friday, Saturday storyline, and starts at the end of Friday/the beginning of Saturday. While I don't think he's right for Stephanie, I've always liked Joe Morelli and this story is about him finding what he was missing with Stephanie.**

The air was sultry; a gentle breeze was carrying the spicy scent of food cooking on a massive line of grills. They were being manned by different male members of both families, competing to see who would have the longest queue of customers. There was one table, largely ignored, in the corner of the banquet sparsely filled with salads that had mostly come from bags and were there to pay lip service to the idea of healthy eating. The good produce was either on the condiment table or slathered in mayonnaise and combined with other more realistic vegetables like pasta and bacon.

The party started at 4 PM with the arrival of the grills and the families. There was a moratorium on cellphones, only those who were on-call were allowed to carry them. Everyone else had to turn them in. The teenagers had balked, until they discovered that some industrious person, who was probably going to hell, had smuggled in a homemade Twilight version of Cards Against Humanity, in order to appease them.

As far as wedding receptions went, it was a fairly laid-back affair. An excuse for families to get together, drink way too much on someone else's dime, and to celebrate the Fourth.

Most of the neighborhood had been invited. The park was packed and at 9 PM the bride and groom took to the dance floor.

She was wearing a light blue silk sundress with a flirty skirt that hung to her knees. He always wore black, and that night was no different. Instead of a suit or his work uniform, he was wearing slacks and an untucked black silk shirt, with the sleeves pushed up. He was holding his wife close, and when a gust of wind came up, and she nearly mooned the crowd, his smooth reflexes prevented the disaster and gave him an excuse to keep his hand on her ass. He whispered something in her ear, and she tipped her head back and started laughing.

And if there was ever a time Joe Morelli needed a drink, it was then…And unfortunately, his red plastic solo cup was empty. It was bad enough that he was even there, at the belated wedding reception of his ex and his rival. It was made worse by the fact that he was happy for her. It didn't change that he wanted to be the one dancing with her. Then again, he could have had that, and he never took it, because he just could never picture them living together.

"This is a wedding. You're supposed to look happy. Where's your date?"

"At home with a 103-degree fever and the complexion of pea soup. I offered to stay with her and play doctor, but her mother wasn't impressed by the suggestion," Joe said and grinned at his mother. She pursed her lips and slapped him on the arm.

"There are plenty of single women here; find one and dance with her."

"Yeah, I thought I'd go to the bar actually," he said.

"Keep in mind whose wedding this is, and how bad it would look if you disgraced yourself by getting plastered."

"I've had one beer; I think my system can handle it."

She looked up at him and patted his cheek affectionately.

"If she was the one, you'd be on your third baby by now," she said.

"You're right," he said. He kissed his mother's forehead and walked towards the massive line at the bar. The song ended, and Stephanie came rushing over to cut the line and grab a drink for herself, claiming bridal privileges. While she was at it, she grabbed a full bottle of tequila and walked to the back of the line where Joe was standing. She handed him the bottle.

"If our places were reversed, I'd be wanting to get shit faced," she said.

"Thanks," he chuckled, "I'm fine though."

"It's free, and we have lots of it. Skip the line," Stephanie said. Ranger was talking to Bobby, and she caught Ranger's eye and smiled.

"I'm surprised Lester isn't here. He had a hot date coming tonight, and he was supposed to carpool with Bobby," she said, "They were getting off work together."

"There's a flu going around; maybe his date has it."

"Is that why you're stag?" Stephanie asked.

"Yep."

"Remember Carla Fletcher? Redhead, big blue eyes?"

"Yes," Joe said, though he didn't precisely associate her eyes with the word big, as he did other parts of her anatomy.

"She's here, and she's here alone; drove her mom…'

"Are you seriously trying to set me up, at your wedding?" Joe asked incredulously.

"Well I look at it this way, she's pretty, funny, not stupid, she doesn't make me feel inferior, and I don't like her. Since the chances are pretty good I'm not going to like who you hook up with; I'm down with it being Carla instead of someone I might like and would then have to hate."

"Ah," Joe said, "Would a rocket scientist supermodel meet your approval? Because that's who I was supposed to bring."

"No," she said, "Can't approve of that. Who were you really going to bring?"

"Cindy Gershwin."

"Yeah, I don't like Cindy for you. She's too…what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Sexy as fuck?"

"That's the one."

"That's three words."

"I hyphenated in my head."

"You're a piece of work Cupcake," he said. He looked down at his tequila, and said, "Grab me a beer too would you?"

"Coming up," Stephanie said. She came back and handed him two, "One for Carla."

"Or not Carla. If I remember correctly, she's a prude. You'd think she'd be adventurous, but she's a missionary, in the bedroom, in the dark, kind of girl."

"Well, that just makes me feel bad for you because she's your future wife. You'll just have to learn to deal I guess."

"Go dance with your husband," Joe said.

"I did that already. I need a lot more booze in me to get me out there again."

She toasted him with her beer, and she walked back to the dance floor. She was just so damned happy. He wanted to be pissed, but he couldn't. He loved her too much not to be happy for her. He needed to get hammered.

He opened one of the bottles in his hand. It was some microbrewery special, belonging to someone related to the Plums, and therefore inexpensive in bulk. It wasn't bad actually. He figured he'd drink one, take the other and the bottle of tequila back to his place where he may or may not decide to drink it, and then call it a night. He'd stayed for the dance, and he'd spoken with the bride, and he'd been gracious; he could call it quits.

He got to the parking lot and pulled out his phone to call a taxi when a movement caught his attention. Leaning against the hood of a black SUV, was Lester. He had his arms folded across his chest, and Joe could just make out the top of a female head, in the vicinity of Lester's crotch. "This would be a lot easier if you just got back in the truck and took your pants off," the girl said.

"It would be going a lot faster if you weren't already drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," she said, "Yet."

"Just hurry up would you?"

"See, I know what this looks like," Joe said. "And I know you're not stupid enough to risk a public indecency bust at Ranger's wedding…. I mean any other time sure." The girl giggled, and Lester sighed.

"If it were any other girl Morelli…" Lester said. The girl rose up from the ground; she'd been kneeling on a floor mat from the truck. She was about five four, with dark brown, almost black hair, with bright red highlights that peaked out from the ends of her artfully messy wavy hair. She was dressed in a short, slinky, black cocktail dress, with a plunging neckline, and a delicate necklace with a ring and little gold teddy bear on it. She had a gold cuff on her left bicep, and on her right wrist, she had a large selection of gold bracelets.

Her hazel eyes were done in a smoky black shadow, with gold eyeliner, and her lips were done in pale metallic pink. Her feet and calves were ornamented with a pair of gold gladiator-style stilettos, with a dozen buckles on each leg. She was gorgeous and not dressed for this wedding, or any wedding. She looked like she was dressed to go out for a night in New York, and not a wedding barbecue. The only thing that suggested that she might fit in with some of the women in this crowd was that she was holding a small plastic sewing kit in her left hand.

"Joe Morelli, meet my sister Molly. She was fixing the hem of my pants," Lester said.

Joe looked at the petite woman with the porcelain skin and pale eyes and looked back at Lester's 6-foot body and caramel colored complexion, "I see the family resemblance."

"Technically I'm not his actual sister, just sort of his quasi-stepsister. But I've known him since I was only like eight pounds and our parents did raise us together, and they were engaged for like a million years. So he might as well be my brother. I mean mom died before they could get married and I had to move to Germany with my biological father, but Javi Santos is my real dad."

She spoke with a soft, hard to place accent. It was European but not easy to peg down, with just enough New Jersey to know she was a native. It was unique, and it was definitely charming.

"You'll have to excuse Molly; she doesn't usually babble, but she decided to down a handful of martinis after getting stood up for the fifth time in two months."

She retaliated to that statement by punching him hard in the thigh with the knuckle of her right middle finger. Lester's leg buckled, and he swore, "Fuck, Molly! That's going to leave a bruise!"

"You just told a complete stranger how pathetic I am! I prefer to let people figure that out for themselves."

"You're not pathetic; you just have lousy taste in men," Lester grumbled, rubbing his leg, "Are you going to do the decent thing now and tell my date how I rescued my baby sister?"

"Lester, I'm drunk. I'll look ridiculous walking out there dressed like this, and you know Tia Alita will rip me a new one and accuse me of trying to outshine the bride. Besides, have you ever tried to walk across the grass in stilettos? I'll be doing the lawn a favor, sure, but I'm probably going to break something."

"I have seen you run on a beach in six-inch stilettos. Nice try though."

"I want to go home, Lester. I don't know why you are even dragging me here," she whined.

"Because it's Ric's wedding.. sort of… and you should play nice and congratulate him."

"Yeah, and that would just be awkward for everyone. I sent Ric a card, and I'll send Stephanie a really nice bouquet of congratulatory flowers," she said.

"I was about to go home," Joe said, "I can give you a lift so Lester can go get laid."

"Done," Molly said.

"Molly, it won't be as bad as you think. There are hundreds of people there. Tia Alita won't even notice you."

"No! You're going to act like a big brother, and hover all night, trying to set me up with your friends because you're worried about my self-esteem. I'm fine. The guy was an asshole. I'll move on."

"Molly," he said.

"Go! Don't worry about me. Joe is it?" Joe nodded, "Joe can get me home. There's a Mets game on tonight, and if I hurry, I'll be home by the fourth inning."

Lester looked at Joe, with indecision written all over his face, and finally relented.

"It's not you Molly," Lester said.

"Yeah," she said, "I know. Stop worrying about me."

"Can't help it; it's my job."

Lester gave Molly one last fleeting glance and walked away. She turned to Joe, and said, "So why are you bailing early?"

"Didn't want to miss the Mets game," he said with a grin. She was fucking gorgeous, and he couldn't have stopped his eyes from lazily taking in every inch of her body even if he wanted to. She smiled back at him, returning the favor.

"Well at least I get to go home with a hot guy," she said.

"That you do," he said. He went to open his Uber app when a family came out to the parking lot. There were four kids with their parents; the oldest child couldn't have been more than six.

"Are you married?" Molly asked as they watched the parents wrestle protesting kids into their minivan.

"You know your new semi-step-cousin-in-law, Stephanie?" he asked.

"I've heard of her but haven't had the pleasure of actually meeting her yet."

"I was semi-engaged to her until she and Manoso eloped."

"Ouch," she said, drawing out the word and screwing up her face adorably.

"We were over for a long time before either of us were willing to admit it."

"Well, here's my thinking. We're both pretty sad characters tonight, and I don't mean sad as in unhappy. I mean sad as in pathetic, and we're only going to make that worse if we leave at the same time as the under four-foot crowd."

"Yep," he said.

"I've decorated this venue enough times to know that there's a gazebo that we can get to without walking on grass. You have two beers and a bottle of Tequila. Let's go watch the game on my phone and stop the neighbors from gossiping about how sad we are for getting in so early."

"And set them gossiping about getting home really late and very drunk instead?"

"Yep," she said, "Because then if we look pathetic, we're too drunk to care."

"I like your logic," Joe said, "Lead on."

She went to lead him to the path, and stopped, "Wait!"

"What?" She trotted back to the car, realized it was locked and reached into her purse, pulled out a set of keys and pointed the fob at the lock. The car unlocked and an alarm went off in her purse. She pulled out her phone and answered it, "Just hit the wrong fob, sorry Ram. I'm a little drunk. My code is… ummm I'm Lester's sister, and I know where you have your tattoo." The alarm stopped, and she laughed. "One-One- Alpha- Mike-Victor- Golf."

She went to the back of the truck and opened the back door. She leaned in, lifting one leg as she reached for whatever she was looking for. Her skirt rode up, and Joe had to force his eyes away from the glimpse of lower ass cheek. He tried not to think about the fact that the amount of cheek he'd seen either meant she was smokeless or in a thong…. Or she had one hell of a wedgie.

"Aha!"

"What?" Joe asked.

She righted herself, and in one hand she had two cellophane wrapped sets of picnic cutlery, and in the other, she was holding a pie. "Rosa asked me to make a few pies for the wedding. Lester forgot to take them out of the car. He'll be back for them, but I figure we can steal one. What would you like? I have caramel apple, blueberry and strawberry rhubarb."

"Are they good pies?" He asked.

"Do you think Rosa would ask me to make them for her favorite Grandson's wedding reception if they weren't?" She asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Which is your favorite?" he asked.

"Ric is the one who likes the Strawberry Rhubarb so we should leave those. I like the apple and the blueberry."

"It's hard to go wrong with apple," he said.

She swapped out the pie she was holding for another one, and Molly teetered a bit on her heels when she stood up again. Joe traded her the beers for the pie, and after she locked the car back up, she hooked her arm in his and led him to the path that would take them to the Gazebo. The fragrant smell of weed filled their noses as they got closer and Joe raised his voice, "You know who I am and what I do, and that's still illegal in New Jersey."

"Shit, it's uncle Joe!" One of the voices said, and there was scuffling as the kids cleared out.

"Leave the stuff, and I don't tell your parents."

There was more scuffling, and Joe grinned as they walked up the steps to the Gazebo. He picked up the ziplock of weed and looked at Molly.

"Too bad I don't know where this came from."

She chuckled, "What do you do Joe?"

"I'm a cop."

"Do you get confused for a stripper a lot? You're too hot to be a cop."

"I won't lie; it was a real problem back in the day, but I don't go out in uniform much anymore. I'm a plainclothes detective."

She sat down at the table and put the two beers down. Joe put down the pie and the tequila.

"I mean it can't have been that much of a problem; I bet you got a lot of tips."

"Yeah but they were all singles, and that got to be a pain in the ass."

Molly laughed, "Well Detective, why don't you unwrap the pie while I find the game?"

"We have a problem," Joe said.

"What's that?" She asked.

"We either have to drink straight from the bottle, or we have to go back to the party to get glasses."

"Bottle," she said decisively, "I'm starving, and I just got comfortable. Besides, there's enough alcohol in the tequila that it should kill off any cooties you might have. We'll drink our beer with the pie, and then play a drinking game or something?"

"How about, every time someone flies out, we have to do a shot?"

"I like it," Molly said, "And for every run scored on a home run, a shot. Solo home run, one shot, double, two, etc."

"And we'll play quarters or something during the pitching changes to see who has to drink."

"I'm going to be hammered."

"I thought that was the idea?"

"It is. I'm just saying; we should have probably brought the other pie."

She found the game on her phone and started it streaming, but they had nothing to prop it up on, so Joe chugged his beer, to her amused applause, and they used it as a tv stand.

"So Molly tell me about yourself?" Joe said.

"Well, I lived in New Jersey with Lester until I was fifteen, and then mom died, so I moved to Germany, where my father was stationed to live with him. He's a US Army Colonel, who looks and sounds like Colonel Sanders when he speaks English, but he was only just, not born in Germany and refuses to speak English anywhere but work, or on American soil. I spent high school in boarding schools all over Western Europe. Not English speaking ones because he wanted me to be multilingual. And then I went to LMU in Munich for university and got a degree in Architectural Design and Engineering with a Minor in Mechanical Engineering."

"So you're an architect?" Joe said.

"Nope," she said, "I'm a florist."

"No need to mock me for stating the obvious. Besides, you asked me if I was a stripper."

"No seriously!" She said, "I'm a florist. I own a store called the Cubed Root."

"That's really nerdy," he said.

"It really is, but my designs are modern and stuff. I was a big deal in New York, sort of, for a while but then I had a nasty divorce and found myself in Trenton."

"So you've been married."

"Nope," she said, "My fiancé left me at our rehearsal dinner and then decided a common law divorce was the best way for me to know he damned serious." She took a swig of her beer.

"New York doesn't allow for common law marriage," Joe said.

"Ah Full Faith and Credit, my friend," she said, waggling her bottle at him. "It means if you're married one place then the US government will recognize you as being married everywhere.

Lucien is French so he couldn't just move to New York with me when I got offered my job. So we decided, since we both wanted a big wedding and couldn't afford it just yet, we'd enter into a Registered Partnership in Germany, which is basically formalizing our common law status. It gave him the same rights as a spouse, even though we weren't married. Because of that, as the judge so kindly informed me, after telling me I should have read the fine print, it didn't just entitle him to a spousal visa, it also meant that we had to terminate our union legally, and he was allowed to sue for Alimony."

"Fuck," Joe said.

"This was after emptying our joint accounts and running up a bunch of debts in my name, so I had to drain my savings, and sell the business to cover the debts and the alimony he was demanding. He's currently living in our condo, drives a BMW, and I live in a shitty apartment above my flower shop, in a shitty industrial park, and get to put up with monthly visits from the asshole, because he's got it into his head that he wants me back."

"Nice," Joe said.

"Yep," she said, "Anyways, that's my life story, and hey, Turner just flied out. Crack open that bottle."

Joe opened it and offered it to her. She took a swig. "I can probably top that shitty story," he said.

"Do it, and I'll do two shots the next time."

"Hmm, that seems self-serving. No, I'm going to demand something else."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Haven't decided yet," Joe said, "Maybe part of your half of the pie."

"Oh it's good pie; you'd better be extra tragic."

"Well let's see, my dad was a drunk, and when he wasn't cheating on mom and rubbing our noses in it, he was beating on her until I got big enough to get between them. When I was 14, I started fighting back, which put an end to the physical abuse, but he was a dick head, so he took it out on me in other ways, and I started acting out. Mom stuck up for me and then one day I crossed a line, so she gave me shit. I'd taken enough beatings for her, that I figured she should cut me some slack, so to punish her, I seduced her best friend's daughter behind the eclair counter at the pastry shop the girl worked in. Then to make sure mom found out about it, I wrote truly classy poetry about it on men's room walls, all over town."

"This isn't tragic, I mean it started that way," she said, "But now you just sound like a dick."

"Don't worry, it gets better. So after mom and I had it out over that, she told me I was worse than my dad ever was and to prove her wrong, I joined the Navy. I took my anger out in the boxing ring and turned into a semi-decent human being. Left the Navy, got run over by a Buick driven by the girl I humiliated, which looking back now, was probably karma."

"It absolutely was karma," Molly said.

"Are you going to keep interrupting me or are you going to let me tell my story?"

"I'm going to keep interrupting you," she said with a grin and took another swig of her beer. "Do continue; it's fun."

"Then I spent years proving I wasn't my dad, only to get framed for murder, and that same girl was charged with tracking me down while I was trying to clear my name. I convinced her to help me, she did. We cleared my name, but she dragged my ass in for the bail money anyway."

"More karma," Molly said. "And a girl's gotta eat."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. He took her beer from her and took a sip, "Anyway, we made up, we got together, but by then she was in love with your cousin too and being an idiot, I didn't really take it seriously. Then one day I get a call at work, she's engaged, and the whole town is talking about it. We have a massive fight. I made an ass out of myself again, and she eloped with him in Florida."

"That's a tragic story, it really is, but… a lot of it was your own fault, and you have to accept the consequences for your actions. So I will grant you something, but not pie." They paused to watch as the ball sailed out of the park.

"Damn," Molly said.

"That would be a two-run home run there Sweetheart; drink up."

"You know what's truly tragic?"

"The Mets are getting creamed?"

"Yep."

She did two-ish shots and handed him the bottle. He took two swigs.

"Oh, pitching change, get out a quarter," Molly said, "Shit, we don't have anything to shoot it into."

Joe braced his arms on the table and held his hands up, palms out, thumbs together to make a football upright.

"That's not fair; I have to flick the quarter higher than you do."

"Yeah, but you have little hands, so my target is smaller than yours," he said. "It makes us even."

"Well now I'm just disappointed," Molly said.

"Why?" Joe asked, bemused.

"Guys who notice my little hands are usually guys who… let's just say usually have small feet, if you catch my drift. My little hands make them feel like a hero."

Joe took off one of his size twelve loafers and plopped it down on the table, "Nothing small about my feet, now shoot the fucking quarter before the pitching change ends."

"Can't," Molly said, "I've just noticed that your hands are proportionate to your feet and now I'm all distracted."

"Are you this fun sober?"

"If I were, I probably wouldn't get stood up so often," she said. She downed another shot, for courage probably.

She flicked the quarter, and he shifted, so her shot went through the target instead of ricocheting off of his thumb. She held up her hands, and he nailed the shot. Which also happened to result in her having to fish around in her cleavage for the missing quarter. Consequently, he missed his second shot. She missed her next two shots, wildly. The pitching change then over, she had to do the shot.

"I want to switch to hockey," she said.

"It's a picnic table; the quarter is going to fall between the slats."

"You're not allowed to make sense; you're supposed to be getting drunk," she said. She ran a hand through her hair, and when she shifted again, Joe caught a glimpse of the silver laced, black bra she was wearing under her dress. "So smart guy, I have a question?"

"What's that?"

"Why do I get stood up?"

He sat back a bit and looked her over. "Well, you like baseball, you can probably fix your own car, you're fucking hot, smart, funny, and you make a delicious pie."

"Those all sound like good things," she said.

"Well, the problem is that you come across as perfect, and that's intimidating."

"But I'm not perfect!" She said a little louder than she intended and she giggle-snorted, which made him laugh, "See? I snort when I laugh, I can't sing, I'm a really bad dancer, and I'm really pathetic when I have a cold. Like forget man colds, they have nothing on the colds I get. On top of that, I wake up really really early, and I left a job making six figures to chase a dream of being a florist, so now I'm poor."

"Yeah," Joe said, "The guys that are intimidated by the other stuff, should be because they are idiots and you are out of their league."

"You're just saying that because you want to know what you're going to get for your tragic story."

He smirked, they did another shot as the Mets made a sacrifice fly, earning a run, which Joe and Molly decided deserved an extra shot because it meant the Mets were finally on the board. A double play ended the inning, and they watched in horrified silence as two pitches resulted in two base hits. "I know how I'm going to earn my pie," Joe said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm going to teach you to dance."

"I'm really drunk," she said.

"Yeah, it means you'll be less inhibited," he said. "And I'm drunk, so I won't notice when you impale me with one of those shoes."

"Or notice that I'm a shit dancer?" She said.

"That too," he said. "Oh crap, the bases are loaded."

Molly slapped her phone to turn it off, and Joe laughed, "It doesn't count if we don't see it," she said.

He squinted at the bottle and realized they were getting through it rather quickly. He stood and held his hand out to her, she wobbled to her feet, and he helped her as she stumbled over the base of the table.

"Wait, music!" she said.

She picked up her phone again and before she was able to switch out of the game, they saw the replay of the grand slam.

"Well, here's to getting shitfaced at a wedding," Molly said. She tipped the bottle back and chugged some, took the bottle away and coughed at the burn. She handed it to Joe. "That should count as four. You drink while I find music."

She hit shuffle on her phone. The first song to play was Jingle Bell Rock.

"I can work with that," Joe said. Both of them were laughing as he attempted to teach her to slow dance to the uptempo Christmas song. She kept getting her heels stuck in the floorboards of the Gazebo, and at one point she fell, bringing him with her, which just made them laugh harder.

The song changed this time to a slow, sultry instrumental piece, "What is this?" He asked as they were both lying on the Gazebo floor.

"I think it's from some movie soundtrack. I could get up and look, but I don't want to. I'm starting to get comfortable."

"You might regret that; we probably don't want to think too hard about what's on this decking."

"You're probably right," she said. Joe stood up and then hauled her to her feet. She stumbled into him almost immediately, and he caught her. "Thanks for trying to teach me to dance."

"Can I have some of your pie now?" he asked.

"That's a question loaded with entendre," she said. "And I don't know if I should say yes; you didn't teach me how to dance."

"You told me you were a bad dancer, you didn't tell me you were hopeless," he said.

Her hands were splayed across his chest, and she grinned, "I'll bet you're a good kisser."

He grinned, "I'm a fucking awesome kisser; even drunk."

"Prove it, and maybe I'll let you have some of my pie."

He kissed her, his lips just grazing hers at first, feather-light, and she shivered. He grinned and then deepened the kiss. She tasted of tequila but so did he and it was good tequila, so he didn't care. When he broke the kiss, she whimpered, and her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt out of a subconscious reflex to keep him closer.

"Take as much as you want," she said, and he kissed her again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to everyone who has been reading and thanks for the reviews! I'm living with limited internet at the moment but I promise I'm reading and loving the reviews and I'll reply once I'm back in the land of decent internet service! All usual disclaimers apply.**

The sunlight intruded, and even behind her eyelids, it hurt. What was worse was that her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth, and it didn't taste great. Her right foot felt weird, and not good weird either. Even stranger, her left foot was touching carpeting, and she didn't own a carpet. Her floors were a cheap laminate that creaked, and this felt like deep pile wall to wall. That was when she realized that the mattress she was lying face down on, was not a mattress but a naked chest, and the night came rushing back to her.

The first kiss had been electric, and it led to a near frantic, drunken make-out session on the picnic table. The sound of a bunch of kids coming towards the gazebo broke them apart, and after he literally poured a bit more tequila down her throat and she returned the favor, they staggered off to find a cab.

She straddled his lap for most of the ride home. His hands were on her ass under her skirt, and by the time Joe and Molly got to his house, they decided that the stairs were too difficult to negotiate in her shoes and that his big sectional sofa was a great idea. She remembered him tossing her over the back of the couch, and laughing as she bounced on it, then he was over top of her, kissing her, and telling her, he had to take her shoes off. He managed to remove one and was working on the other when she realized that his couch was the most comfortable couch in the world, and everything after that was black.

She was still dressed, her thong was still in place, her bra was missing, but she thought it was possible it was in the back of the cab. No, it was in the pocket of Joe's jeans. Which she'd pushed off of him at the door. He was really comfortable, and to her booze-addled brain, she thought it best if she kept her eyes closed, so the hotness of the night before wasn't replaced by reality. He couldn't possibly be as handsome as she thought.

He shifted in his sleep, and steadied her by putting his hand on her ass, and when he moved she felt the rather impressive morning wood. Okay, now she really didn't want to open her eyes because if he was as hot as she remembered, she was going to kick her own ass, because she really needed to end the prolonged drought. And she could have done it with a really really hot guy, and if she didn't take her makeup off last night, then there was no way he was going to be interested this morning.

She decided she was thinking too hard, and it hurt, and if she kept it up, she was going to throw up. She tried to find blissful unconsciousness again, when her phone vibrated in her little purse, on the table. It sounded like a jackhammer, and she had to answer it, just to shut it up. It was 7:00 and unbelievably the call display showed Ric's number.

"What," she grumbled. "You have messed up priorities if you think calling me this early is acceptable."

"Lester was concerned about you, and he's on his way to your place right now."

"Oh God," she said, "I'm… I don't know where I am."

"You're on Slater Street," Ric said, "I'm out front with Gatorade and Advil. I've detoured Lester; you have five minutes to get your shit together if you want to get home before he gets there. You owe me."

"I figured you seemed uncharacteristically altruistic," she said. "Wait a minute, why would I want to beat Lester back to my place? I'm a grown woman, and I'm allowed to have drunken sex with a stranger if I want to."

"Open your eyes, Molly. It wasn't beer goggles, and if you don't want Lester to kill him before you have the chance to fuck Morelli…"

"I'll be out in two minutes," she said. She didn't even bother asking how he knew she didn't seal the deal or that she was refusing to look at Joe, and why. She'd long ago accepted his omniscience.

She hung up, peeled her eyes open, and attempted to gracefully get off of Joe, only to fall onto her back, on the floor next to the sofa, where she came face to face with a smelly, mangled, tennis ball, and a startled orange dog. The dog reacted by whacking his head on the coffee table and washing her face for her with a million dog kisses before he bolted for the back door. She hobbled over, realizing halfway that she was still wearing her other shoe and it hurt a lot. She slid the back door opened for the dog, who did a few laps of the yard before peeing an improbable amount on what used to be hydrangeas. While he did what he needed to do, she looked back at the sleeping Joe.

He was hotter than she remembered and way too long for the sofa, which seemed bigger the night before. He was shirtless, she'd done that, and he was wearing a pair of navy blue boxers with minions all over them. She flashbacked to the night before.

 _"Minions?" She said, as he pushed her up against the hall closet door and hiked her up higher so he could kiss her some more._

 _"They were on sale," he said as his teeth nipped at her throat._

 _"I like them," she said._

 _"Then you'll love the Scooby Doo ones," he said._

She grinned. It had been a fun night, even if it hadn't started that way. She let the dog back in and followed him to the kitchen where he demanded breakfast. She fed him a couple of scoops of dog crunchies and went back to retrieve her shoe. She bent to pick it up off of the table, and it felt like her brain was going to fall out of her forehead. Nope, she couldn't wear those shoes home. There was no way she was putting them on without puking. She opened her purse and found a pen and a business card. She wrote a note on the back of the card, shoved it into her shoe and staggered to the back door to steal a flip-flop she'd seen there. She got an impatient text from Ric, muttered uncomplimentary things about him under her breath, prepared the coffee pot, so Joe just had to hit go, plugged in his dead phone, and she left.

Ric raised an eyebrow when he saw her. "The Mets got creamed last night," she said by way of explanation. He didn't comment, she just slid into the passenger seat and accepted a blue folder from him. The papers inside were held to it by a Batman paper clip.

"Stephanie," Ric said, by way of explanation. Molly opened the folder and looked at it. It was German, but complete jibberish.

"Did she use google translate or something?"

"No," Ric said, "It's an encrypted message."

"Dammit Ric, I'm a florist, not a code breaker."

"Easy Doctor McCoy, I just want you to do a literal translation. I'll work on the code."

He started the car, and the firm suspension of the 911 combined with the condition of Slater street made reading impossible without throwing up. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a time when her eyelashes didn't hurt, and that she wasn't hungover. He nudged her alive when they pulled into the lot of the industrial park that she called home. She opened the door, and the smell from the recycling plant at the end of the park hit her nose, and she bolted to the alley beside the little strip mall she lived above.

After puking up two thirds of an apple pie, (Joe made her eat more so the pastry would absorb more booze) a half bottle of tequila, a beer, mozzarella sticks and three Appletini's, she was pretty sure death was imminent, but on the plus side, her stomach was now completely empty. She came out of the alley to see Ric leaning on his car, holding her purse and the folder in one hand.

"Can you handle the locks?" Ric asked.

"No," she said and suppressed her gag reflex. Ranger found her key on his key ring and unlocked the store, disabled the alarm and handed her, her things. She took the folder from him, and the purse and didn't bother saying goodbye as she limped up the stairs. Her foot fucking hurt and she knew she'd feel better if she just took off her shoe. Once in her apartment, she kicked off the flip-flop and hobbled to the bathroom. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tried not to cringe at her hair. She left her dress on the bathroom floor, remembered that she forgot her bra in Joe's pants, decided not to care, and flopped face down on her bed, in her underwear and one shoe.

The blankets were blissfully cool against her face, and if she kept her bare foot on the floor, the room stopped spinning. She pulled a corner of her quilt over herself, covering her ass and not much else, and then she gave in to the need to pass out again.

"Well look, it's roadkill!" Lester said seconds or hours later, and she jolted out of sleep.

"Coffee…" she said.

"Yeah, you're out," he said.

"I live next door to a diner. Don't speak until you have coffee and I've drunk it."

"Put some clothes on," Lester said, "I'll be back."

She wasn't sure if she flipped him the bird or gave him a thumbs up, but some hand gesture was involved. She found a pair of cotton pajama shorts and a tank top. She put them on, struggling to get the shorts over the shoe, then she went back to her bed…The place of less pain. She tried the buckles again but they just made her head hurt, and whenever she tried to readjust her foot to make it easier to reach the straps, it felt weird, and it made her want to throw up which made her think something was probably wrong. Then again she was giving serious consideration to how often she needed to blink because that made her want to throw up. She gave up on her shoe after a few attempts and flopped onto her back, both feet over the side of the bed.

Lester came back and saw her lying there, feet on the floor, tears leaking out of her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to have to cut my foot off if I ever want out of this shoe," she said.

"Where's the other one?"

"In a taxi possibly? Don't ask difficult questions. Joe and I may have done a few shots before I went home."

"Define a few?" he said dragging her into a sitting position.

"Maybe a million? I'm pretty sure we finished that bottle he was carrying," Molly said. Lester handed her the coffee, and she took a restoring sip while he knelt in front of her on the floor.

"You're probably the best big brother ever, you know that? First, you rescue me, and then you get me coffee, and now you're taking my shoe off," she sniffed, "And I probably ruined your whole night because I know you were probably worrying about me. I'm really sorry…"

"You're pathetic when you don't feel well," he said.

He managed the buckles and then peeled the straps off of her swollen foot, "Yeah, I'm calling Bobby; your foot is deformed, and kind of purple. Does it hurt?"

"Everything hurts. All of me hurts. I can feel my hair growing, and it's painful."

"God, you're a wimp. I don't suppose you have ice?"

"I might have ice cream in my mini fridge," she said.

"Lie down properly on your bed," he said, she wiggled back, and he put a few pillows under her foot. "Try not to die while I go beg ice from next door."

"No promises."

She woke up as Bobby pinched the back of her hand, and she swatted at him. "You're really dehydrated," he said.

He turned her arm over, tied a bit of rubber tubing around her bicep and stuck an IV catheter in her arm. He tore open a bag holding IV bags and attached the tubing to the bottom, and then had Lester hold the bags up, while he assembled a portable IV stand. "What are you giving me?" She asked.

"The ultimate hangover cocktail," Bobby said. "Saline, electrolytes, a slew of vitamins, painkillers, and anti-nausea drugs."

"Is this legal?" She asked.

"Yep," Bobby said, "If you go to Vegas, they have busses that go up and down the strip that provide this service. You'll feel better once you're rehydrated and have had a chance to sleep."

Once she was set up, he checked out her foot. The straps had cut into parts of it, so he put antibiotic ointment on the raw skin, and then he sat on the end of the bed, picked up her foot, and began massaging life back into it. After about fifteen minutes, her foot felt quasi-normal again, and she felt a lot less like she was going to puke.

"Are you seeing anyone Bobby?" She moaned, "Because I feel like I owe you marriage or kinky sex, just for this…Ouch!"

"As it happens, I am seeing someone," he said, brow furrowed as he probed the area that she'd flinched at, "Or I'd take you up on that offer."

"Well, it's good for the day, and one doesn't necessarily preclude the other… Hell, you can bring her along" she said.

"You're just saying that because you can feel your toes again," he said with a sigh. "I'll call her, and she'll come over, and you'll chicken out."

"I dunno," Molly said, "It's been a while; is she cute?"

Lester whacked her with a pillow, "Stop, you're freaking me out."

"Man, she was engaged to and living with, a Frenchman who literally thought of sex as a religion," Bobby said, "She's probably done a lot more kinky things then you have my friend."

Molly peeled an eye open and looked at Lester's stricken face, and she cracked up.

"That's better," Bobby said. He wrapped her foot in an ace bandage, and he produced a small machine. It was a bucket that looked like a small cooler, the lid turned out to be a pump. He filled the bucket with ice water and attached some tubing to the pump, and what looked like a deflated ice pack. He put the pump back in the bucket, closing the lid tight to form a seal. He wrapped the ice pack around her foot, and secured it with Velcro strips, then turned on the machine. In seconds Soothing ice water was circulating around her foot.

"I've set it on a timer; it'll run for ten minutes and stop, and come back on in half an hour. Let it cycle like that until the ice is all melted and the pack isn't getting cold anymore. And stay off of your foot as much as possible. If it gets worse or isn't better by tomorrow, you're going for an x-ray."

"My phone is in my purse, somewhere, can you plug it in for me, and hand me my remote, before you go?" She asked.

"Only because you offered kinky sex," Bobby said. He found what she needed, removed the IV and packed up, Leaving her alone with Lester.

"What happened last night, really?" Lester asked. He sat beside her on the bed and stretched his legs out. He held out his arm, and she wiggled closer and put her head on his shoulder.

"Before or after you picked me up? Because after you left, things are a little fuzzy," she said.

"Before," Lester said, "Was it, Lucien?"

"No," she said, "No this guy was just fucked up. He hit on me every day for a month, bought flowers from me every day, brought me coffee when he had a break. He asked me out yesterday morning on his way home from his shift, and he was super cute, and well, obviously I said yes. He called me at the bar after he left me sitting there for an hour, to say he couldn't come because his wife was in labor."

"You're joking," Lester said.

"She was on bedrest and couldn't put out, so she gave him a hall pass." Lester bit back a laugh, and she rolled her eyes, "Go ahead. I don't know how I find these guys, I really don't. I'd cry, but it's not even surprising anymore."

"You just need to get your Mojo back," he said, "It was a bad breakup, and you're not seeing the decent guys that are looking. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're thinking that you don't deserve the good guys. It doesn't help that Lucien keeps showing up here to tell you that you'll never find anyone better."

"Do me a favor?" She asked.

"Yeah?"

"If I meet a guy, and I like him, like really like him, resist the urge to protect me from him."

"I'll try, kiddo, but you're my Molly," he said and kissed the top of her hair. She smiled, and fingered the ring on the chain around her neck, and hugged him hard. "I would love to stay to make sure you'll be okay, but I'm on duty."

"I guessed that by all the guns you're wearing," she said.

"I'll call to check on you around four," he said.

"Thanks," she said.

"I'm buying you some groceries," he said as he unfolded himself from the bed beside her, "You're getting too skinny."

"Yes dad," she teased.

He left her, with her remote, a glass of orange juice, and her phone. She turned on the TV and promptly went to sleep.

 _"Daddy, tell me about my bear?" Molly said. She was four years old and reluctant to go to sleep. They were on a camping trip, and Lester was with their mom, doing some evening fishing._

 _"Well," Javi said, "It was my turn to pick you and Lester up from Daycare. You were just a little baby, not even one, and Lester was almost three and a half. You were growing teeth, and you'd been crying a lot- because growing new teeth_ hurts _. He could hear you from his classroom, and he got very upset._

 _He started saying something, and his teacher thought he was saying that he wanted his mommy, but they didn't know who he meant. They were silly and didn't realize you and Lester have the same mommy. They thought it was the mommy he had before we met you guys. So they were walking him up and down the hallway, trying to get him to calm down, and they walked passed your classroom. He saw you and started saying, "There's my Molly!" And they realized that he didn't want his mommy, he wanted his Molly._

 _They told me at the end of the day because they thought it was cute. But I realized that yes, you and your mom were our girls, and it was time that we made that stick. When two people decide to do that, the man buys the woman he loves a ring and asks her to be his. Since there were two of you, Lester and I decided you both needed something. So I picked out a ring for mommy, and Lester picked out your little bear." She touched the gold bear pendant that hung from the chain around her neck._

 _"That night, I made your mom a very nice dinner, and Lester helped. Then he gave your mom a big box all wrapped up, and there was a card in it, that he made, that said, 'Will you be my mommy?'And he gave her the ring, and I got down on one knee and pulled out the little box with your bear and I asked you, if I could be your daddy."_

 _"But I didn't say yes, because I was too small, so mommy said yes for both of us."_

 _"That's right."_


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN**_ : **Sorry** _ **for the delay in the new chapter! I decided to re-write parts of the story I wasn't quite happy with, and it's turned into a whole ordeal. I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter, and I'll probably tweak it later, but for now, it'll do. Enjoy!**_

His eyes were lined with sandpaper, he was sure of it. Sticky sandpaper. Which was kind of gross if he put much thought into it. So he decided not to. There was a weight on his chest, and although he remembered going to bed with a woman, he was pretty sure that what was lying on top of him was Bob. And maybe he wasn't on his bed, but the sofa. The vigorous face licking confirmed his suspicions. Molly probably didn't wake people up like that, and she had a lot less hair.

"Get off you idiot," he grumbled, shoving Bob off of him. Joe walked to the back door and opened it, letting the dog out, and tried to piece together what happened after the cab ride. He figured the sex didn't happen because he didn't usually put his boxers back on afterward. He looked at his watch, which he was still wearing; it was a little after one.

He shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee and saw that the pot was already ready to go. He usually put things together before he went to bed, but he didn't remember doing it the night before. Shaking his head, he hit go, and saw his pants by the door and went to pick them up. His mother usually swung by with food on Sundays; it was probably best if she didn't see that he'd mostly stripped by the front door.

The bra dangling from the back pocket made him grin. It was a sexy thing. Sheer black lace with silver trim. It had cupped Molly perfectly, and he flashbacked to the cab when he shoved the low neckline of her dress aside, and he kissed her breasts through that lace. He'd unfastened the front clasp then and peeled it off, just as they pulled up in front of the house.

Then he remembered her damned shoes and being worried she'd take out one of his eyes with the heel, so he had insisted on taking them off. He managed one and heard her start to snore softly on the sofa and been relieved because he didn't have the concentration to operate the other shoe.

"You're getting old Morelli," he said to himself. "Once upon a time, the shoes wouldn't have been a problem, and she wouldn't have fallen asleep."

He threw the shirt and pants into the laundry and went back to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. That done he let the dog in, and sat on the sofa, having used up the entirety of his pre-coffee energy reserve. Molly's shoe was on the coffee table with a business card in the toe of it. He furrowed his brow and smiled as he picked up the card and turned it over.

"Had to go. Borrowed a flip-flop. Call me to arrange a hostage exchange," he read aloud.

He flipped the card over again and looked at it.

Molly Von G.

"What does the G stand for?" He asked Bob, who licked the card in Joe's hand. Joe put it down, scratched Bob's head and picked up his coffee taking a restoring sip. It was his regular coffee, but there was something richer about the flavor. It was the perfect strength, strong but not sludge, and fucking delicious, "I didn't make this."

He found his phone, miraculously charging, something he didn't remember doing either, and he called the number on the card. "Hello?" She sounded half asleep, but alive…Which was good.

"Did you make me coffee and charge my phone?"

"Well I wanted you to call me," she said, still sounding sleepy, "And not to toot my own horn, but I make excellent coffee. I figured it would do the trick."

"What did you do to it?"

"My secret," she said.

"Sweetheart, you've earned yourself a real date for that alone."

She laughed softly, "How much pain are you in right now?"

"It only hurts when I blink," he said, "You?"

"It helps when your brother's best friend is a medic with access to IV fluids and shit designed to kill a hangover. Now I'm mostly just tired, and my foot hurts."

"Your foot hurts?"

"I forgot to take my shoe off when I got home," she said, "And then it hurt too much, so Lester had to do it."

"Speaking of shoes, I have a question," Joe said.

"Yeah?"

"How old are you?"

"29, why?" She asked.

"My nine-year-old niece has bigger feet than you do. I just wanted to make sure you were over 18."

"My feet are a normal size," she said, "Your niece must have big feet, poor thing."

"Yours is a size five and a half," Joe said.

"Perfectly normal for a woman of diminutive stature," Molly said. "Besides, I have little hands, remember? It would make sense that like you, my feet were proportional."

"I'm just wondering what you looked like wearing my flip-flop, with that other shoe."

"You know in the little mermaid, the weird creatures the Sea Witch has? Her poor unfortunate souls?"

"Yeah?"

"That…with a limp, and really scary makeup."

"The Walking Dead, huh?"

"No, Walkers are prettier," she said.

"Can I bring you supper and arrange this hostage exchange?"

"No," she said, "I want a real date, and I want to be alive for it."

"This isn't a date; it's a hostage exchange. The date will require you to wear another little dress and less complicated shoes."

Bob barked in the background as a squirrel taunted him from the back step.

"What's the Sasquatch's name?" She asked.

"I think we decided he was a Wookie mix," Joe said, "His name is Bob."

"He's a sweetheart," she said.

"That's the general consensus," Joe said, "That and he has an eating disorder. Why did you leave?"

"Because Ric was out front with a heads up that Lester was coming over to my place to check on me. I thought Les would kill you before I had a chance to see the Scooby Doo boxers."

"The cartoon selection isn't limited to that. I have Ninja Turtles, Super Man and Duck Tales."

"No fucking way! Duck Tales? That's just amazing. Where the hell did you get those?"

"I dunno; I just buy what's on sale and in the right size. I draw the line at Sponge Bob and Batman."

"Well yeah, because Sponge Bob is annoying and Ric likes to channel Batman. Hell, it's possible he is Batman."

"I'm showering, and if I'm not mistaken, mom is going to drop off a lasagna because a grown man living alone obviously can't cook for himself. You interested?"

"Hell yes I am," she said. "Just… remember I'm not allowed out of bed today, so don't expect perfection."

"There's another game on. I figure we should watch it, without the Tequila, and eat my mother's pasta."

"There is a problem with that," she said, "I don't get cable. I stream everything, and I can't watch a game on my TV."

"Then you're coming back here; be ready in three hours," he said.

She laughed, "But I have to stay in bed remember?"

"I have a TV in the bedroom."

"I have to be home by 4:30 tomorrow morning."

"I can work with that," he chuckled and disconnected, remembering saying the same thing about that damned Christmas song. He finished the coffee, had another one, bypassed the shower, grabbed some running shorts and a shirt, laced on his sneakers and then snapped Bob's leash on him. The best cure for a hangover was a coffee followed by a big glass of orange juice and then running until you felt like you were going to puke, and then running some more.

An hour and a half later, Bob collapsed in front of his water bowl. Too tired to stand up, he lay there, chin resting on the lip of his water dish, lapping up the water. Joe went upstairs to shower off.

"Sorry pal," Joe said when came down to see Bob sleeping with his chin still on the dish. Bob thumped his tail. No hard feelings. He left Bob with his water and drove out to the address on the business card.

Molly's store stood out in the shitty industrial park. The store was clean, elegant and straightforward. The sign hanging from her door was a funky cubist set of tree roots, done in iron and enamel. He knocked, and when her face appeared at the door, he held up her shoe. She grinned and held up the flip-flop before she let him in.

She was sitting on a stool with wheels on it, her hair was no longer in waves, she'd taken a flat iron to it, and the red really stood out as it peaked out from underneath the dark. She was wearing the gold teddy bear and ring on the chain and a simple single bracelet with a not so simple watch. The watch was Cartier, the face done in diamonds and pearls, with enamel orchids, and visible gears. Instead of a strap, it was mounted on a thick linked white gold chain.

Instead of a slinky little dress, she was wearing an oversized, v-necked, heather grey Mets T-shirt tucked into a pair of really short, blue cotton shorts. She had a single rose gold leather loafer on her uninjured foot. She was wearing light makeup, and even though the outfit was girl next door, Molly had too much of an edge to her appearance to look like the girl next door.

She took the shoe from him and put it on the counter in her shop. "I have just a little work to do, and then I can go," she said and using her uninjured foot, wheeled herself around to the other side of the counter.

He watched as she tied a ribbon on a paper covered flower arrangement. The wrapping was an Escher print of a garden. The flowers on the paper were in pots that twisted and curved, and it was difficult to decide which way was up and which was down. It didn't help that the couples in the garden were walking in all directions.

"Interesting paper," he said.

"I like perceptual puzzles," she said and handed him the package.

"This is me, thanking your mother for making dinner for us."

"You can't do that yet," he said and put the arrangement down.

"Why?" She asked. "Too much pressure? These are just really pretty, and I wanted someone to have them before they wilted."

"I have to do something first," he said as he walked around the counter.

"Does she have allergies?" Molly asked.

"No," he said, "I have to do this."

He put his fingers in her hair and caressed the back of her neck before he kissed her. It started soft, an experiment to see if their chemistry was alcohol dependent. Her arms wound around his neck as she kissed him back and he deepened the kiss, he picked her up and put her ass on the counter, she was taller than he was now, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just slightly, and he grinned against her mouth as he broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and she rested her forehead against his.

"So it wasn't the booze that made it good between us," she panted. "I was worried about that."

"I had a hunch you might be. Figured I'd save us a little awkwardness," he said and tilted her chin so he could kiss her again. "I think we should slow down."

"Oh God, why?"

"Because you have an injured foot, and I don't want to be worrying about it when I make you see fireworks."

"I haven't seen fireworks outside of the handheld sparkler variety, in a very long time. I don't know if I have the patience to wait too long."

"Can you hang in there a week?" He asked.

"It'll be a long week," she said and kissed him.

Why the hell was he putting on the brakes? She obviously wasn't in a lot of pain, she wanted him, her bed was probably not far away. His mouth found her throat, and he flicked his tongue out to lightly lick her pulse point. She moaned and then swore when her phone rang.

"Ignore it," Joe said, "You're closed."

"It's Lester; I have to get this, or he'll come over," she said.

"I'll take this out to the car, and then I'm coming back for you," he said, taking the flower arrangement.

When he came back, she hung up her phone, and he picked her up and carried her out to his Jeep since she had to be off of her foot. He'd even held her while she locked the door to the shop, and once she was securely in his car, with her seatbelt on, he got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the lot.

He noticed the tension in her shoulders at the second intersection, and her eyes were glued to the passenger side door mirror.

"I'm not expecting anything," he said. "If you'd be more comfortable, we can go someplace public instead."

She started and smiled at him, "What? Why would I…"

"You seem tense, " he said.

She laughed, "Oh, no. I did some work for my cousin this morning, and he has a habit of putting a guard on me without telling me."

"You work for him?"

"Translations mostly," she said, "And occasional property inspections. Nothing dangerous."

"So why the detail then?"

"You're joking, right? This morning because I had a hangover my brother didn't just get me coffee and aspirin, he brought a medic. Ric and Lester are the very definitions of overprotective."

"You make a good point, " he said.

"Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful and know how lucky I am. It just also means that dating is a little difficult."

"Afraid I'm going to get scared off?"

"A little," she said.

"Good thing I'm used to it already," he said.

"That's a definite bonus," she said.

When they got to his house, he put her behind him, and she clung to him while standing on one foot, as he took the full force of Bob, barreling into him for his usual, exuberant greeting.

"Be nice!" Joe said, "She's injured."

Bob wiggled his way around to her, and she reached down, albeit not very far, to scratch his head, and say good afternoon. She let him sniff her hand, and she grinned, "Yep, I'm the same person, only I look a little less like a reject from Kiss now," she said.

"You know, I find morning-after makeup, very sexy," Joe said. She gave him an incredulous look. "Think about it, if your lipstick is smeared and you were too out of it to deal with the rest of it, odds are it was a job well done on my part."

"Or I was hammered out of my skull," she said.

"Yeah, but I did end up with your bra as a souvenir, so I'm taking credit.; Now off your feet."

"Can I ride Bob like a horse?"

"He'd probably lie down because it's too much like work," he said and carried her to his sofa.

"Be careful," Molly said, "This couch and I have a history."

He put her down gently, in direct contrast to the way he'd tossed her the night before. They were both fully clothed, but that didn't mean he wasn't inspired to resume their makeout session. He knelt over her, gently pinning her hands above her head. Her eyes instantly darkened, "Your mom is coming over," she said, "And the baseball game is on soon."

"Are you saying no?"

"No," she said, "I'm just drawing your attention to the other factors at play here."

"She usually knocks, and the game doesn't start for half an hour," he said, "I'm fully aware of everything at play, and I remember thinking that you had an excellent pair of breasts."

"I would have thought you were a leg man," she said. "Hence the really short shorts."

"Oh I am," he said. He couldn't kiss her too firmly because he didn't want her lips swollen when his mother got there, but Christ he had to be kissing her. Unlike the night before, it wasn't frantic, it was making out, just for the fun of it. His doorbell rang, and he gently nipped her bottom lip, and said, "Do not get off of this couch."

"I'll find the game," she said.

"Should already be tuned to it," he said. He gave her one more fast kiss and got off of the sofa. She watched him go, grinning.

"You have a really great ass!" she called.

"I know," he called back. When he was out of sight, Molly sat up and ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times, to smooth it down. She checked her herself out in the camera on her phone and realized she was still grinning. He was a mixture of intense libido and fun, and man, she liked it. She put her hurt foot up on the coffee table, and Bob immediately sat to her left on the sofa and put his head in her lap.

"Hey big guy," she said scratching his ears, causing his tail to thump against the back of the sofa. "I like your dad a lot, but I just met him, so don't go making me all attached to you."

He made a sound that wasn't so much a whine as it was an impatient demand to give him more love. He sounded like a Wookiee, and she laughed, "Oh relax Chewie," she said, and continued to scratch his head. His tail thumped again, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa.

"Oh no you don't," Joe said with a laugh.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go to sleep on me again," he said, and she grinned.

"I told you we have a history, me and this sofa."

"Yeah, and Bob thinks you're a sucker because he knows he's not allowed on the furniture."

"Newsflash! Bob probably sleeps on this couch the entire time you're at work," Molly said, opening her eyes. She gave Bob's big head a squeeze before she nudged him off of the sofa and he not so gracefully stumbled to the floor. He curled up under her injured leg and put his head on the foot that was on the floor.

Joe's mother was standing beside him, and it was pretty clear where Joe got his looks from. His mom was probably a fox back in the day; she was still a good looking woman now. Angie Morelli was Molly's height, with warm, dark brown eyes, dark hair, and an engaging smile. She was wearing a pair of soft, midrise stovepipe jeans and a pale pink untucked blouse. She had pearls on her neck, and her dark curly hair was perfectly arranged to look like she stepped out of a fifties housewares add.

"Molly Von G, meet Angie Morelli," he said.

"I'd get up, but I'm not allowed," Molly said, extending her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"What happened to you?" Angie asked while shaking Molly's hand.

"An unwise shoe choice," Molly said. She figured she would leave out the bucket o' tequila.

"Molly and I met at the party and decided to ditch it to watch that horrible game last night."

"We're hoping the Mets redeem themselves today. And Joe promised me good food, that isn't from the diner next to my place."

"Are you friends with the Bride?" Angie asked, "Or the groom?"

"It's a bit complicated, but I'm related to the groom," Molly said.

"The short story is she's Lester Santos' stepsister," Joe said.

"Where are you from?" Angie asked, "Your accent is, unusual."

"I was born in Newark, lived there until I was a teenager and then moved to a bunch of places in Europe. My father insisted that I stay in non- English speaking schools so I would learn to speak the native languages without an accent, and somehow I forgot what English is supposed to sound like in the process."

"Where in Europe?" Angie asked.

"Berlin, Florence, Geneva, Paris, and then Munich."

"Well your accent is very charming," Angie said.

"Thank you," Molly said. "It has gotten me out of a few speeding tickets, so now my brother is convinced that I'm actively trying to keep it so I can drive too fast."

"And is he correct?" Angie asked.

"No," Molly said, "I actively try to keep it because I can pretend my English isn't great when I guy hits on me in a bar.

Angie laughed, "Well I'm not here to interrupt your afternoon, I'm just here to drop of Joseph's dinner."

"I'm sorry," Joe said, to Molly, "I lied. Mom didn't bring lasagna. She thought I'd need cheering up today so she made my favorite instead. Does Spaghetti Carbonara work for you?"

Molly groaned, and put her head back against the sofa, "I love spaghetti carbonara, but I never make it, because I can't cook bacon in any form. It's my cooking kryptonite."

"Do you like to cook?" Angie asked. Molly nodded vigorously.

"I love it," Molly said, "There's just something about bacon that I can't quite get. It drives me bananas too because I love bacon."

"Have you tried cooking it in the oven?"

"I have," Molly said. "And it was unsuccessful."

"Have you considered the fact that it's usually four in the morning when you get up, so your mind is probably thinking only about coffee?" Joe asked.

"No," Molly said with a laugh, "Because it's four in the morning and I'm only thinking about coffee."

"And that reminds me," Joe said. He went out to the car to get the flowers, and when the came back in, Molly and Angie were laughing.

"So there I was, surrounded by a whole calendar's worth of firemen, holding the bowl of filling, wondering what the hell happened. Meanwhile, Maggie's boyfriend, who was in Stuttgart at the time, was trying to make hotel arrangements for us because both of our purses were by the stove when it went up and our credit cards were melted."

"Why did you take the bowl though?" Angie asked while wiping tears from her eyes.

"I have no idea, but I was determined to save it," Molly said.

"And you haven't tried making it since?" Angie asked.

"No," Molly said, "Because her father made us swear we wouldn't, upon pain of disinheritance."

"Would you like a proper lesson?" Angie asked.

"I would," Molly said. "Because it can't possibly be as difficult as Maggie made it out to be."

"It's not," Angie said. "Next time I'm making cannoli, I'll tell Joseph, and he can bring you around."

"I'd like that," Molly said, "But I've only just met Joe. He's going to think I'm crazy if I start making plans with his mother already."

"No," Joe said, startling them both, "Even if I hadn't just overheard that, I'd know it was my mother because she can't help herself."

"Oh hush," Angie said. "I thought we'd have dinner together, but seeing as you already have company, that won't be necessary. Walk me to my car."

He walked around the sofa and handed the flowers to his mother. "What's this?"

Molly jumped in before Joe could reply.

"Just something Joe saw when he was picking me up today, that he thought you'd like. I'm glad too because they turned out really well. Unfortunately, they are a bit out there for my usual clientele, and I was sad that they probably weren't going to find a home before they wilted."

"Joseph picked this?" Angie asked, bemused. Molly nodded, and then caught Joe's eye and winked.

Angie's hands flew to her mouth when she saw the flowers. There were two dozen, hand dyed, rainbow petalled roses, in an unusual vase that looked as though it was knotted in the middle, the stems of the roses wound around the knot. The effect was beautifully surreal, and Joe wondered how Molly had managed to accomplish it.

"Oh Joey," she whispered. "Oh thank you. You…Oh I don't know what to say."

She lovingly touched one of the flowers. Molly was absolutely correct, it was the sort of thing Angie loved. She loved bright colors, and before she'd married, and before her husband started drinking heavily and demanding that she become more conservative, she'd often worn bright colors. One of his earliest memories was taking some money he'd saved up from his allowance to buy her a bright floral blouse that buttoned in the back. He had could vividly remember standing on his mother's bed, helping her button the last buttons. He had a picture on a shelf by the front door, of her wearing that blouse, and the flowers were strongly reminiscent of it. Molly had dyed the flowers specifically for his mother, he was sure of it.

Angie carefully put the vase back in its little box and Molly re-wrapped them for her, so they'd be protected for the drive home. "I am assuming you're the one who dyed the flowers?" Angie asked, collecting herself.

"I did," Molly said.

"The arrangement is simply stunning," she said. "Stunning. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you."

"You too," Molly said.

"Do not move from that couch," Joe said. Molly saluted him and grinned.

Joe saw his mother to the car, and got an extra kiss on his cheek before she beamed at him again. "I really like her. Do not mess this up."

"I just met her mom," he said. "Don't go planning the wedding yet."

"Do not do what you normally do," she said waving her finger at him. "She's not the sort of girl who is going to chase you, to assuage your ego. She'll let you run, and it'll have nothing to do with whether or not she likes you and everything to do with self-preservation."

"Who says I'm going to run?" Joe said.

"Because you were just in a relationship where a woman loved you but would drop you like a hot potato for another man if he asked. Of course, you want to be chased. You're human, but you can't play that game with that girl in there. If you run, she'll run the other way twice as fast."

"She's injured," Joe said, "She's not running anywhere for a while."

"You know what I mean, Joseph," she said.

Joe kissed her cheek and closed her car door. "I'm serious Joey," she said. "She moved around a lot in high school, and her father deserves to be shot if he thinks he did her any favors by dumping her in schools where she didn't know the language. She's remarkably well adjusted, but that's because she'll have learned how to protect herself. She won't play games."

He was walking into the house when he heard Molly let out a startled shriek.

"Oh get off you oaf," She laughed. Joe jogged to the living room and found Molly on the sofa, with Bob lying across her legs. Joe shoved him off, and she scratched Bob's head before he went under the coffee table.

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"I stood up," Molly said, "I have to pee, but I guess Bob objected."

"I did tell you that you weren't allowed off of the sofa; he might be smarter than we give him credit for."

Molly looked down at the floor where Bob was now lying on his back, his tongue dangling out the side of his mouth, as he writhed to catch his tail.

"Or not," Molly said.

"The powder room door doesn't latch because the idiot dog broke it; you'll have to go upstairs."

"Okay," she said. She started to hop/limp towards the stairs when he took her hand to stop her, and he kissed her palm, and then picked her up, cradling her. She liked that he did that; he was strong enough that when he carried her, it looked like it took no effort. She wound her arms around his neck and smiled at him as he brought her up the stairs, and she glanced at the open bedroom door.

"You're looking like you're thinking about skipping dinner," Joe said.

"I'm a lady," Molly said, primly. "Of course I expect dinner before any funny business. I am however not completely averse to the idea of eating dinner in bed, to expedite the process."

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he brought her to the bed, and then he handed her the remote. "Is this set up to find the game if I turn it on, or am I likely to find something shocking?"

"You never know," he said. Molly turned the television on and got Sports Centre.

"That is so disappointing," she said and started clicking through the channels to find the game.

"Why did you say the flowers were from me?" He asked.

"Because your mother is sweet, and I remembered what you said last night about how you were a horse's ass to her when she was already going through a lot. It can't have been easy to love you back then, and she's more than earned a thank you," Molly said.

"And how do you know I haven't thanked her already?" Joe asked.

"You can't thank her enough," Molly said. "Believe me."

She fingered the ring around her neck, almost unconsciously, and continued channel surfing. His phone rang, and she visibly started. He looked at the caller ID and decided to ignore the call. His cell rang a second later, and he excused himself to go into the hall to answer it. It was his brother asking him if he was going to a poker game that night. When he went back into the bedroom, Molly was staring at the television, and the tension was back in her posture.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

She turned and smiled at him, "Nothing," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm still a little hung over," she said. "Bobby's stuff worked wonders, but I'm still…"

She waved her hand by her face to indicate that things were a little off.

"Let me feed you," he said. "My mother's pasta actually has magical properties."

When he came back upstairs with bowls of pasta, she had her head resting against her knees, and she was whispering something to herself. He only made out the last few words, "Please, I need this."

He made some noise in the hallway, so she knew he was there, and when he walked into the room, she was quickly wiping a tear from her cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't I tell you I was a wimp?" She said, with a wry laugh. "I have a hangover, and my foot hurts."

He walked to the bed and handed her a pasta bowl with the carbonara in it, and then put his dish down on the side table and sat at the foot of the bed. He carefully took her foot and unwrapped the bandage, revealing some serious looking bruises, and some swelling. He kissed the top of her foot and then went to the guest room to get a bunch of pillows. He set them up so she'd be comfortable, and sat on the bed next to her.

"Eat," he said. "You'll feel better."

Given the state of her foot, there was no doubt that she was probably uncomfortable, but she was lying about why she was upset. What wasn't she telling him?


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. This chapter is kind of short, but the next one is super long, and provided the edit doesn't take me a million years, will go up pretty soon. Stay tuned!**

Dinner was over, and they were watching the game. She was tucked in close to him, drinking a beer, and occasionally yelling in exasperation at the television with him. When the Mets changed pitchers for the third time in a single inning, Joe muted the tv.

"What does the G stand for in Molly Von G?" he asked.

"Grimmelshaussen."

"Your name is Molly Von Grimmelshaussen," he said.

"No, my name is Molly Adelgieses Von Grimmelshaussen. And before you say anything, I know my name sounds like a really good sneeze."

"Is that why you shortened it to Von G on your business cards?"

"No I shortened it to Von G, because I wanted a website people could spell," she said.

"Molly isn't a very German sounding name," he said.

"My mother was an Irish immigrant," she said. "And I'm named after a great aunt my mom adored. Mom doesn't like middle names, so I wasn't going to have one."

"So how did you end up with the one you have?"

"She called my father after I was born, to let him know that he had a daughter named Molly. She asked him if he wanted her name to be Von Grimmelshaussen, or Flynn. He came to the hospital, and she told him he could fill out the birth certificate. He decided to give me his sister's name as my middle name, and turned the forms in without telling my mother. I guess she didn't realize I'd been given a middle name until she got the birth certificate in the mail."

"Did you like bouncing around Europe?" Joe asked.

"At first it was quite difficult," she said. "And for the longest time, I could not figure out why my father did that to me."

"Why did he?"

"Katrin, his wife," she said. "They had two sons together, and when I was about five, he figured he should get to know me, so he came to New Jersey, and I was terrified of him. He didn't like that, so he decided to see if he could get posted in New York or something, so could be more of a presence in my life. She didn't want to uproot her life and leave everyone she knew just so he could get to know a daughter he never wanted in the first place. She said I had a family, and so did he. I wasn't his responsibility, and he agreed."

"So how did you end up living with him after your mother died?"

"When mom got sick everything happened very quickly. Mom was doing her Will when they discovered the clerical error that made Javi's adoption of me invalid. They were going through the process of fixing it when mom died. Things were really backed up, and the social worker was going to have me put in Foster care. That's when my father stepped up."

"And instead of leaving you in the care of the man who had raised you, he took you away."

"He did," she said. "And I hated him for it, for a long time. I got it into my head that if I pissed him off enough, he wouldn't want me, and I could go back to Javi and Lester. I turned into a hellion, and instead of it landing me back in New Jersey, it landed me in boarding school. Only I'm too practical to just flunk out, out of spite, so I'd work hard, come home on holidays where I'd hide in my room, until I was forced to come out, and then I'd be a massive bitch. Then I got my head screwed on straight, and I actually started to enjoy the adventure of it all."

"What was your favorite place?"

"I loved Paris," she said, "That's when I fell absolutely in love with flowers. There are these absolutely stunning and enormous public gardens that are 100% free to go sit in, and everybody does. My boarding school was in the Latin Quarter, not far from Saint Sulpice and I used to get up every morning to jog around the Jardin de Luxembourg. Then on weekends, I would go sit under the big fountain and drink hot chocolate from this cafe that had whipped cream so thick that it was only just not butter, and it was sooo good.

When my family moved back to Germany, I convinced my father I needed to stay at my boarding school."

"Were the gardens why you stayed in Paris?" He asked.

"Partly. The other reason was that I was a teenager and Lucien was in the picture."

"The ex?"

"That would be the ex."

"How did your father like that?"

"Oh he didn't," Molly said. "But I also had a place in an exclusive boarding school, and I was receiving a top-notch education regardless of my motives for staying. So he let me, on the condition that he chose my major when I went to University."

"So you didn't want to be an architect?" He asked.

"I didn't not want to be one," she said, "I had to present him with options, and he chose the one he felt I was best suited for."

"What were the others?" He asked.

"Something in Art; I thought it would be interesting to understand the business and maybe own a gallery one day. And the other was Mechanical engineering. He said no to the Art thing, because he assumed, (rather correctly) that I was interested in it because Lucien's family owned a rather large gallery and I was a teenager who was more focused on trying to be what her boyfriend wanted, instead of what I wanted."

"How did he feel when you switched to flowers?"

"He was one of my first investors," she said. "I went to him with my business proposal and some of my designs, and he wrote me a cheque."

"That was nice of him," Joe said.

"Nice had nothing to do with it," she said. "My father would never confuse business and sentiment. He made it very clear that the only reason that he was willing to loan me the money when I started the Cubed Root, and no banks would even consider giving me any kind of loan, was because I'd already proven myself to him once with Von G, and you'd better believe I make monthly payments, with interest on that loan back. Make no mistake, the Colonel loves me, but the last time I physically saw him, was my rehearsal dinner."

"Not after?"

"No," she said. "He dealt with all of the practical matters, returning the gifts, paying vendors, getting refunds, and he wrote probably about three hundred thank you/apology letters, and then he went back to Germany. He calls at noon on the fifteenth of every month, my time. We speak for exactly half an hour, and that is the sum total of our interactions. Javi Santos on the other hand, calls me four times a week and flies here from Miami four times a year to take me out on a date. I'm of half a mind to move out to Miami with him."

"Oh," Joe said, and rolled her onto her back, "Trenton isn't so bad."

"No?"

"Nah," he said. "We've got really great fireworks."

"You shifted gears really fast there Detective," she said.

"Well I was listening, and I want to learn a lot more about you sweetheart," he said, "But then you said you were thinking about moving to Miami and I developed a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"The kind where I suddenly had a mental image of you in a bikini, lying on a beach somewhere, and then I realized that I wouldn't be able to see it because you'd be in Miami, and I'd be stuck here behind a desk."

"Well I'm going to need a reason to stay," Molly said, "Something concrete, and it's a little early to be talking that kind of commitment."

"Will you stay until at least next Sunday?" he asked and slid his hand up her thigh.

"What's happening next Sunday?"

"Nothing in particular," Joe said, "But Saturday I happen to have tickets to a Mets game. I was going to take my brother, but in the interest of keeping you out of Florida, I'm willing to toss him aside for you."

She grinned, "That's pretty damned good incentive to stay since I've never been to a game before. What else have you got?"

He leaned in to kiss her, and Bob started going apeshit downstairs. "Damn," he said.

"What?"

"We have company," he said, "He only gets like that for one person."

"Let me guess," she said.

"Yep."

"Can't we just pretend we're not here?"

"No," he said, "She still has a key, and she'll just come in."

"Hmm…" she reached for the remote and unmuted the television. "Not to sound like a bitch, but Get rid of her; I'm horny."

"Yes ma'am," he said. He got off the bed and grabbed the dishes and empty beer as he went. He got to the bottom of the stairs and found Stephanie standing there, awkwardly, trying to decide how best to get the fuck out of Dodge.

"Hey," she said.

"What's up?" He asked. She eyed the dishes but didn't say anything about it. Her eyes strayed to the stairs, and then to his hair, and then to his mouth. Molly had been wearing lipgloss, and he was willing to bet that the lion's share of it was no longer on her mouth.

"I uhhh didn't mean to interrupt. I thought you were home alone. It's Sunday and your mother…"

"Been and gone," Joe said. "You're safe Cupcake. Did you need something or were you dropping by to visit?"

"I think I left some stuff here; is it a good time to get it?"

A well-timed thump, upstairs and the sound of Molly hopping across the floor pretty much was all of the answer he needed to give her. "As I find stuff of yours I put it in a hamper in the closet," Joe said.

He went to the hall closet and brought a basket to her. It held a couple of shirts, some underwear, a bra, one black high heel, a notebook, and some makeup. She pawed through the basket and frowned. "Damn," she said, "Is this everything?"

"I have no idea," he said, "What was obvious anyway, why? What's missing?"

"A book," she said.

"A book?" He asked, grinning. Stephanie didn't read for pleasure. It wasn't exactly her thing. She liked spacing out at the television.

"I read…" She said.

"Cereal boxes," he said.

"Fuck off."

"What's this book?"

"I don't even remember what it was called. It's got pink writing on the cover, and it's dark blue. I'd just replace it with a new one, but I can't remember what it is."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled. It's not at your apartment?"

"No," she said, "I brought it here. Crap. Do you mind if I look in the bedroom?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm not exactly alone Cupcake."

"Oh. Right!" She said, "Ummm yeah… So I'll go then."

"Take Bob?"

"Fat chance," she said. He saw her to the door, and he watched her bang her head against the steering wheel a couple of times before she punched a number into her phone. She was probably calling Ranger to freak out about the awkwardness of the encounter. He closed the door, fed the dog, and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. He got a couple more beer from the fridge and he jogged back upstairs to see what all of the thumping around had been about.

At the top of the stairs, he found a tiny pair of pale yellow bikini briefs, Molly's little shorts were about a foot away. In front of the door was her t-shirt, and from the knob was the bra that matched the briefs he now held in his hand. He opened the bedroom door and found Molly on the bed, curled up around his favorite pillow, and wearing a beat up TPD t-shirt he used as pajamas on the odd occasion that he wore them. She was also sound asleep.

"Oh Molly," He said, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Whatever you want," she mumbled, "Just don't leave if he shows up."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry about the slight hiatus. I've been laid low with a virus, and binge-watching ER. The next chapter of Saturday will be up sometime this weekend. For now, here's Chapter 5 of Molly. Thank you for reading.**

For the second morning in a row Molly woke up with Joe Morelli, and for the second time, it was without having sex with him beforehand. It was a damn crime. Her alarm was going on her phone, which was set to vibrate, and she would have given anything just to ignore it and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, she would have to go to the flower shop this morning, if for no other reason than Lester would drop by with breakfast.

After finding her phone and shutting off the obnoxious killjoy that was her alarm clock, she rolled back into the little space she'd managed to work her way into, and went back to using Joe's left bicep as a pillow.

The problem now, of course, was that she was awake enough to note that her foot was uncomfortable and that her bladder was really full. Until she took an Advil and went pee, there would be no going back to sleep. She swore under her breath. When sleeping with someone, there was always that struggle to find that perfect spot, where you were warm, and not too much of your body was touching the other person, so you didn't become overheated, but you weren't so far away from them that you might as well have been in separate beds. She'd found that spot, it was perfect, and it had been forever since she'd woken up with a man's arms around her, and her bladder had conspired with her alarm clock to ruin it.

"I'll be here when you get back," Joe said, his voice rough with sleep. Molly gave him a hard peck on the lips for saying that and quickly rolled over. He was awake, so the sleepover wasn't a total waste from the sex standpoint. They could always do the morning sex thing, and it really was one of her favorite things. There was something about the slow, almost lazy quality to it, that felt so damned decadent.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, and as soon as her foot touched the floor, all thoughts of impending orgasms evaporated. Instant, sharp pain radiated all the way up her leg and down through her little toe.

"Shit!" Molly gasped and yanked her foot back onto the bed. It only changed the pain from a sharp stabbing agony to a persistent throb.

Joe had reacted instantly, and was already around the side of the bed, assessing the situation. That he'd responded as rapidly as he had, would normally have impressed her, but through the pain, her brain had decided to register the fact that he wasn't joking about the Scooby-Doo boxer shorts, as the salient detail in the situation. That was until he gently probed some of the swelling around her ankle, and she nearly punched a hole in his bedsheet with her thumb.

"Yeah, I think you need the hospital, Sweetheart," Joe said.

"This is your fault for making me dance," she said.

"I'll make it up to you," he said and found the ace bandage she'd rolled and put neatly on the night table. He sat on the bed and put her foot on his lap so he could re-wrap her foot.

"I'm going to help you to the bathroom, and then I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I have to work, Joe," she said, "I have to open the store this morning. I don't have anyone else."

"You're not going to be able to work on this foot with it untreated."

"Well, I don't really have a choice," she said.

"What time does the store open?" he asked.

"Seven," she said. "But I have a lot to do to open the store, and it takes a while."

"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let me take you to the hospital to get this looked at, and then I'll help you open the store. It's probably not likely that someone with a big contract is going to come by at the ass crack of dawn, right?"

"No," she said, "They usually call beforehand, or come in at lunchtime."

"So let me take you in to get this looked at, and then I'll stay and do the heavy lifting for you. We'll call in penance for making you dance."

"Fine," she said.

Twenty minutes later, with his assistance, Molly was dressed in a pair of Joe's basketball shorts (Chosen for their wide leg, so she didn't have to angle her foot to get it into the leg hole) and she'd put her hair into a fishtail braid. When they were both ready, Joe helped her down the stairs, and then put her in the back seat of the Jeep so she could put her foot up on the center console.

"I don't get why it hurts so much more today," Molly said.

"You were too drunk to feel it the night before, and Bobby gave you good drugs yesterday."

"Fuck," she said. "What the hell am I going to do? It's only me at the store. I don't have anyone else, and it's not because I happen to enjoy the solitude. I can't afford to hire anyone if I want to be able to eat."

Joe got into the front seat and started the car, "My sister owes me a favor. I'll give her a call later to see if she can come help out today. If not, there's always my mother."

"I can't ask her to do th—-ow!" Joe slammed on the brakes, jostling her hard, and Molly braced her leg with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut to try and stop the tears.

"Jesus Christ!" He shouted and leaned on his horn as the BMW that had been driving on the wrong side of the street sped off after nearly creaming the back of the Jeep. The car's lights had been off, and if it weren't for the fact that the car was bright yellow, Joe might not have seen it as it came speeding down the street.

"What happened?" Molly asked. She was taking deep, calming breaths, and had begun to appreciate the wisdom of going to the hospital. Joe was right, there was absolutely no way she could work with her foot like this.

"Someone driving like an idiot."

"Put your Kojak light on and go bust his ass," she said.

"I have other priorities right now."

"I'm really okay with delaying them," she said.

"What's with the aversion to hospitals?" he asked.

"Oh nothing, it's just that Ric is going to find out, and he'll come around, asking questions."

"Why is Manoso going to find out?"

"I don't know, he probably gets an alert whenever my GPS goes anywhere near a hospital."

"That wouldn't surprise me," Joe said. When he arrived at the Hospital, he pulled up in front of the Emergency room doors and went around to help her out of the back of the Jeep. She managed to hop a few feet, using him as a crutch, before the jostling hurt too much and she needed a break. Rather than block the entrance, while she caught her breath, Joe picked her up and carried her inside.

The triage nurse on duty was named Carol Lamb. She'd grown up in the Burg, and she knew Joe well.

"Jesus Joe," Carol said, "I'm starting to wonder if Steph was the problem all along, or if you're just bad luck. What happened? Car bomb?"

"I caught my heel in some deck boards trying to dance," Molly said.

"I'm going to have to sit down," Carol said, "It's been a while since he brought someone in here for something normal."

Carol steered a wheelchair towards Molly, and Joe put Molly down in it. "I'll go move my car," he said. "I'll be back in a minute."

He kissed the top of Molly's head and left her there.

Molly took a deep breath and tried to relax the death grip she had on the chair, while Carol wheeled her into the little exam room in triage.

Carol handed Molly a clipboard, with forms to be filled out, and asked her the standard triage questions, and examined her foot.

"Yep, the doc is going to want that x-rayed. I'm going to take you right up while it's still quiet. When did you do this?"

"Saturday," Molly said. "Don't tell me it would have hurt less if I'd come in yesterday. I had it looked at by a paramedic who works for my cousin's security firm, and he told me to wait until today."

"Wouldn't have done you any good if you'd come in yesterday," Carol said. "All but one of the X-Ray machines were down, yesterday, and one of the trauma centers was closed due to a power outage. This place was a damned zoo. You'd have spent the entire day hanging out, in pain and all you would have gotten for your trouble was a sore back, and a case of strep throat. You were better off at home, hanging out with Morelli, resting your foot."

"Could you maybe say that again on camera, so I can show it to my brother Lester? It might be the only thing that stops him from killing his best friend for not medivac-ing me to the hospital the second he suspected my foot might be a little broken."

"Your brother's name is Lester, his best friend is a paramedic who works for a security company?"

"Yeah," Molly said.

"You wouldn't be talking about Lester and Bobby, would you?"

"I would be," Molly said with a grin. "Who'd you like me to set you up with?"

"Both, and preferably at the same time," Carol said.

Molly laughed, "They'd probably be open to it, but Bobby is seeing someone."

"Damn," Carol said. "What about Lester, think he'd be interested?"

"You're pretty, female, and breathing," Molly said. "Yeah, he'd be interested, I'll put in a good word for you and everything."

"For that, I'm going to give you a tip," Carol said. "Morelli is a helluva nice guy now, but he didn't use to be, and that really comes out in the bedroom. He's got years of experience making women's toes curl, and knees shake. Just let him do his thing, and you'll have afterglow for weeks."

"You're speaking from experience I take it?" Molly said.

"Oh yeah," Carol said.

"Why did you break up?" Molly asked.

"We didn't break up. Back when Morelli and I were hooking up, he was more like the occasional indulgence you know is terrible for you, but you can't help yourself when it's offered."

"That's not exactly a deal breaker for me, I could use some indulgence."

Joe came back, just as Carol was finishing filling out the X-Ray requisition. She handed Molly the paperwork and looked at Joe. "Do you trust yourself to drive a wheelchair without bashing her foot into things? Or do I need to get someone to transport her to X-Ray?"

"I think I can handle it," Joe said.

"Well, you know where you're going," Carol said. "Stop clogging up my triage area."

Two hours, an x-ray, and CT scan of her foot later, Molly was diagnosed with a severe sprain of her ankle, fractures of her second and third metatarsals, and an avulsion fracture of the fifth metatarsal. In other words, she'd done a number on her foot. Given her job, and her lifestyle, the doctor, decided that he wanted her foot in a cast for two weeks before they gave her a removable boot. It took another hour to get her a bright green fiberglass cast, and then another hour before she was discharged, with a pair of crutches and a prescription for painkillers. By then they were already late opening the store, and she was starving, so they had a quick breakfast at a deserted Denny's while he made arrangements to have his sister come help at the store.

Once they finally got to the Cubed Root, Molly was already exhausted and grateful for the help.

"I'm going to get changed if you want to start putting the racks outside for me? I'll go through the flowers and open the store, once I've put myself together."

"Have you ever had crutches before?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"Then I'm going to follow you upstairs," he said. "Just so that I can talk you through it."

She showed him to the rickety spiral staircase in the back of the store.

"I thought these were decorative," Joe said. "Are they even to code?"

"Nope," Molly said. "I don't like them either, but I don't own the building so I can't change them."

"There's no way you are going to be able to negotiate those on your own."

"Well it's what I have Joe," she said, "I'll have to manage."

Molly handed him her crutches and braced herself on the railings and slowly hopped up the stairs.

"Well, I'll get a good upper body workout," she said.

"You can't stay here," he said. "Yeah, you could negotiate the stairs on your ass, but you're not going to be able to bring your crutches up with you, and the doctor wants you to be off of your foot for a couple of weeks before he wants you bearing weight."

She took the crutches from him and headed towards the clothes rack she kept in the corner as her makeshift closet. Her right crutch slipped on the ugly laminate floor, and she almost fell, and instinctively put her foot down. The action caused her to break into an immediate cold sweat, and Joe came rushing over. In a second she was on her bed, with her foot up on a pillow.

"You can't do this alone," he said. "You need help."

"My dad lives in Miami, and my father lives in Germany. I'd kill Lester if he tried to stay with me, and my grandmother is all the way in Newark. Everyone else in my family has lives that I can't just ask them to pick up and leave in order to help me hop around. I'll have to make do."

"Come stay with me," he said.

"What?" Molly asked, incredulously.

"I have a guest room you can use, my stairs are easily negotiated on crutches, and you don't have to restrict your ballgame watching to whatever you're able to stream on your phone."

"That's a very generous offer to make someone you've just met," Molly said. Joe pushed her back on the bed so that she was more reclined, than sitting, and leaned over her. "Especially since I could probably ask Ranger if I could use one of the apartments in his building. He'd probably say yes."

"You could do that, but staying with me is better."

"Why?"

"I'm not allowed in Ranger's building without a warrant."

Molly laughed, and he kissed her on the mouth, and then the throat, and she moaned. "Please?" Joe asked.

"You just want me to come over so that I'll make you coffee again."

"That and I'm hoping you'll finally put out," he said.

"I'm trying," she said with only somewhat feigned exasperation.

"Come on," he said. "I'll make it worth your while."

To demonstrate this, he slid his hand up her shirt and stroked her breast.

"I am in, on one condition," she breathed.

"Oh?"

"I don't sleep in the guest room," she said.

"Bob will be disappointed; it's his favorite bed, and he likes to cuddle."

"Yeah, but I'd feel bad taking up his bed when you're the one making the offer. Why should he have to sacrifice for your decisions?"

"You're right. I'd hate to inconvenience Bob because I screwed up. I guess I'll just have to suffer," Joe said. "Would you like me to help you get dressed now, so you can open your store?"

"Yes please," she said. She wound her arms around Joe's neck and drew him to her for another kiss before he reluctantly got off of the bed.

After considerable contemplation of her bra collection (which included asking her to model a couple) he chose a black lace creation that would probably haunt him for the rest of the day. He tossed her a little jersey knit dress that she pulled on over the bra, and Joe happily relieved her of his shorts. With the clothes sorted out, he helped her back down the stairs, where she had him unlock the doors, and she did her makeup while she directed the heavy lifting.

Mary arrived just as he was finishing, so with a final kiss goodbye, and a promise to pick up her painkillers for her before he went to work, he left.

Mary was a carbon copy of her mother, just a little taller, and with fewer experience lines around her eyes. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a long tank top and kept her dark hair in a clip.

"Ma won't shut up about you," Mary said, once Joe was gone.

"I like your mom, she's sweet," Molly said, "I can't imagine that your brother was easy to deal with growing up."

"No, he was a pain in the ass."

"I got that impression," Molly said, and Mary grinned.

"I don't think you understand, he fucked anyone in a skirt, and he lived to stir shit up with dad. But heaven forbid his little sister wanted to do the same. I didn't get to date until he joined the Navy."

Molly laughed, "Lester would have been the same way about boys if we'd been living on the same continent. Hell, he's that way now."

"I'd be more worried about his boss," Mary said. "He scares the crap outta me, and I don't scare easily. I mean my grandmother is probably a witch, so my spook-a-meter is kind of jaded."

"Speak of the devil," Molly said. A Porsche 918 pulled silently up in front of the store. The stealth of the electric engine suited her cousin, and she was surprised it wasn't an option he might have explored earlier.

He liked money, but he was definitely of the philosophy that you can't spend it when you're dead. She enjoyed that about him; it was something they had in common. Make sure you're set in case shit happens and then everything else is gravy.

"It's a fucking gorgeous car," Mary said. Molly agreed and pushed her wheeley chair away from the counter and stood up to hop to her desk to retrieve the file he'd given her the day before. She hopped back just as Mary stammered a hello to Ranger, before beating a retreat to the office.

"I like this new, greener you," Molly said, nodding towards his ride, "It's nice and subtle."

"Could you really picture me in a Prius? What's with the cast?"

"I tried to dance at your wedding," Molly said.

"That was a mistake," Ranger said.

"It's always a mistake," Molly said.

"Then why?"

"Tequila," she said.

"How bad is it?" Ranger asked.

"Three broken bones and a sprain."

"Good job," Ranger said.

"Well you know me, I've always liked to be thorough."

"It's a family trait," Ranger said. "Bobby wants you to sign a release so he can look at the X-Rays."

"Did you bring it?" Molly asked. Ranger nodded and handed her a piece of paper. She signed it, and returned it, with the folder she'd retrieved from the office.

"Every fourth word in the gibberish is in the infinitive; I've highlighted them in green. All other verbs are in present tense first person, they are in pink."

"Anything else?"

"There are no adverbs, and there are a bunch of place names that should be capitalized, but they aren't, those are in yellow. That's all I've got for you, Captain."

He handed her another folder and clipped to the top of that one was a cheque.

"You don't need me for this, you speak French," Molly said, after she'd perused the first page.

"Not as well as you do; my French is too formal, and I don't have the time. Can you have it for the end of the day?"

"I dunno," Molly said, "I'm pretty busy."

Ranger glanced at the store, which was empty. "I can see that," he said. "You're not staying here while you are on crutches. JigSaw is back in town; he'll drive you to and from work."

"I've made arrangements," Molly said.

"Morelli is a cop, he's not going to be able to drive you to work every day. Jigsaw will pick you up."

"You aren't going to ask me to… You've fucking bugged my place again!"

"I didn't bug your place. You didn't close your apartment door, so the audio on the security feed picked up your negotiations."

"Oh god, tell me Lester wasn't on Monitor Duty?"

"He was. He's in time out right now. He's been duly reminded that you are allowed to fuck whoever you want to, and he doesn't get a say."

"You'll have this by lunch," Molly said, "I'll take a Turkey Club, and I'll text you with Mary's order."

"I'll get Ella to drop it off when she comes by to clean your place."

"Ric…"

"She's insisting," Ranger said, "I don't fuck with Ella when she's on a mission."

"Well, that's because you're not an idiot," Molly said.

"I have my moments," Ranger said. "If you need more help with the store, I'll make Carlos available."

"Oh jeeze, thanks!" Molly said with a roll of her eyes, and Ranger grinned.

"He's getting better," Ranger said. "Julie's in town, if she ever starts speaking to me again, I'll see if she's interested in lending a hand."

"She might be a slightly better fit," Molly said with a laugh.

She watched Ranger leave and pulled on the paper clip that held the cheque on the front, dislodging a second clip she hadn't noticed that was attached to the back of the folder. She opened the file and flipped to the back. "You sneaky son of a bitch," she muttered.

She was looking at her hospital bill from that morning, paid in full, and there was a credit card with her name on it. The card had a post-it attached to it.

 _Use it, physiotherapy isn't cheap, and you don't own a lot of flats._

She stared at it for a long minute. It was so tempting. She could go to the store, update her wardrobe and buy new shoes for the first time in two years. She could spend the money frivolously, and he wouldn't even blink. He'd probably tell her it was about time she accepted his help. In fact, he'd probably even be willing to pay Mary for her. It would be so easy. All she'd have to do is ask. With that card, everything would be solved. Lucien wouldn't know, because it was Ranger's card so it wouldn't be income he could go after, and it would take off so much pressure.

"Dammit," she muttered and put it through her paper shredder.

The minute she did it, her phone rang, and she didn't even look at the readout when she answered it; she knew it was Ric. "You paid my medical bills, and provide personal security for me. It's more than generous enough. I'll figure something out about the physiotherapy."

"You're family, and I take care of my own," Ric said.

"I know," she said and pinched the bridge of her nose, "But I like Joe a lot and given your history I don't want the baggage between you two influencing our relationship any more than necessary."

"So long as it's not _our_ baggage influencing this decision."

"No," she said. "It's not a knee-jerk reaction; I'm actually thinking this through."

"You didn't have to destroy the card."

"I wasn't being dramatic. It was too tempting, and I don't have your self-control."

"You know where I am if you change your mind," Ranger said and hung up.

She sat down to do the translation, which would take her about an hour. Two customers came in while she was working and by noon when Ella arrived, her foot was objecting to its lack of elevation. She decided to pack it in and gave Ella and Mary instructions for shutting up the store at five. Molly was supposed to meet Joe at the house at five-thirty, but given the pain, Mary gave her Joe's key, and Molly hobbled out to JigSaw who was waiting in his Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra, in the parking lot.

"Hey kid," he said when she flopped into the front seat.

"Sorry about the chauffeur duties," she said.

"You having problems with the prick again? I fucking told you to call me if he showed up, and I would skip going through the boss."

"I haven't seen him recently," Molly said, "But I'm dating someone new, so give it time."

"He know you're dating a cop?"

"Damned if I know, JigSaw. You know how he is; he just finds this stuff out."

He put the car in gear and started driving towards Joe's place. "Have you seen Lester today?"

"Lester is on a time-out," Jig Saw said.

"What does that mean exactly?" Molly asked.

"It means the boss took him to the mats for an hour and kicked his ass until he was too tired to be pissed off anymore, and he's sleeping it off. He is going to be a hurting unit tomorrow."

"What exactly happened when he saw the footage?"

"He backed into Bombers brand new 911. She'd driven it from the dealership to the building. We're thinking it's a new record."

"Ouch," Molly said.

"Anyway, he's not allowed phone privileges until he's chilled out and realizes that you're a big girl."

She sighed, "Take me to Rangeman first? He's going to be freaked out that I have a broken foot and he left me alone yesterday."

"And because Morelli is a dog."

"Good," she said, "It's been a long drought, and he's taking me to a baseball game on Saturday, so how bad can he actually be?"

"Don't go trying to tame the bad boy; it doesn't actually work you know?"

"Not going to try," Molly said.

He turned into the Rangeman garage, and she was barely out of the car when the elevator doors binged open, and Stephanie came out with Lester. Stephanie was dressed in a girlie version of the Rangeman uniform, her top was fitted and didn't quite reach the top of her cargos. She had her curls pulled back into a pony tail, and she was wearing Ranger's Navy Seals hat…And she had a pair of flip-flops on her feet. Lester was in the standard uniform, his feet in boots.

Lester saw Molly, scowled and was about to start yelling when Stephanie grabbed him by the ear and twisted.

"Fuck, stop doing that!"

"Not until you stop being a jack ass."

"I've stopped!" He said.

"No, you were about to lay into her about having consensual drunk sex. That's not allowed," Stephanie said, "You've sounded like my mother all morning."

"But…"

"Do you need to go back to your room? Christ! Who needs kids? I have to deal with you and that insane fucking bird. Tell your sister you hope she feels better soon, apologize for being a dickhead, and then Ranger said you're my bitch because you broke my car. So drive my ass around."

"Molly, this is Steph," Lester said. "I'm her bitch."

"Hi," Molly said, shaking Stephanie's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too. I've been looking forward to it, and now that I know you exist, Lester never shuts up about you," Stephanie said.

"I'm hurt that he didn't talk about me before," Molly said.

"I do to everyone else; I just assumed I told Steph, I'm her bitch, about you," Lester said and turned to Stephanie, "Can you give us a minute?"

"I'm sorry?" Stephanie said.

"Can you give us a minute Steph, I'm her bitch," Lester said rolling his eyes.

"Better," Stephanie said and waved as she walked to a big black tank of a truck.

"Umm?" Molly said.

"Conditions of my release," Lester said, "Every time I use her name, I have to follow it up with, 'I'm her bitch.'"

"How much damage did you do to that car?" Molly asked.

"It's a write-off," Lester said. "We're going out to see if she likes the Boxter better than the 9-11."

"Tell her to look at the BMW M2. The prick may have chosen it, but it was a fun car to drive."

"Mercedes and Porsches. Ric saved the life of a guy who owns a couple of dealerships. He sells Ric the cars at cost."

"And Ric likes Porsches because they make him feel like Batman."

"Name for me one man who doesn't wish he was Batman?" Lester said.

"Clark Kent?"

"Listen, Stephanie doesn't…"

"Ahem…" Molly folded her arms across her chest as best she could with crutches in her armpits.

"Seriously?"

"Did you write-off her car because you were being a chauvinistic, overly protective big brother with more testosterone than brains?"

"Yes."

"Then try that sentence again."

Lester closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking for his zen.

"Stephanie, I'm her bitch, doesn't know it's Morelli or I'd have a partner in Time- Out. She made her choice but she's always gonna be a little territorial, you know? Ric wants to keep it from her until you know where it's going."

"Yeah, fine," Molly said, "Look Stephanie's Bitch, Joe's being sweet to me, and you know the minute that changes, if that changes, I'll call you and you can rescue me again."

"You don't know what he's like," Lester said, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"He never cheated on her," Molly said, "From the way you told it, she gave as good as she got, and he was only a dick when he was worried about her; does that sound like anyone you know?"

"You broke your foot," he said, "How did Bobby miss this?"

"I don't think he did," Molly said, "He said I'd probably go for x-rays today, and I wasn't alone all day yesterday. I had an epic nap, did some work for Ric, and then Joe picked me up. He's taken excellent care of me, and if it makes you feel any better, we haven't had sex… yet."

"You've slept at his place two nights in a row; you expect me to believe that…"

"Yes," Molly said, "I like him, and you promised that if I liked someone, you wouldn't be a jerk. So don't, please? If this goes to hell, then fine, tell me you told me so, but I want this."

"Fine," he mumbled, "It's the idea of you and sex that freaks me out."

"You liked Lucien," Molly said. "You didn't have a problem with me having sex with him."

"Yeah, because he didn't look like the kind of guy who was into a lot of sex."

"The man followed Neo Tantric practices... which he told you, I might add. We had a lot of sex."

"Yeah, but I could pretend you didn't. Morelli walks around looking like he's just recently fucked someone into oblivion. If you're with him, I won't be able to pretend anymore."

Molly laughed, "And if he makes me happy?"

"Whatever," Lester said. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he grudgingly hugged her back. "I should have taken the day off yesterday when I saw how fucked up your foot looked."

"No, because I spent the morning sleeping in my underwear and nothing else. I stripped almost right after you left because my place got too hot. If you'd been there, I would have been uncomfortable and wouldn't have slept for a thousand hours."

"Be careful," he said.

"No," Molly said, "I'm never careful. You miss out on too much if you're careful. I will be safe though. Go away, be Stephanie's bitch. I'm going to cuddle a giant orange dog and stare blankly at the TV for a while."

"Okay," he said. He helped her back into the Cutlass, and Jigsaw started it up again.

"This is a great car," Lester said.

"Yeah," JigSaw said. "It's a fucking tank too, total pig on gas."

"I know a Buick like that," Lester said, "It's blue and indestructible."

"Good car," Jigsaw said. "I don't fit in Molly's VW; wanna send Hector over to pick it up so we can park it down here until she can drive again?"

"No problem," Lester said.

Molly handed her keys over to Lester and he ambled over to the truck and got into the driver's seat. Molly grinned when Stephanie scratched behind his ear like he was a good dog.

"And Lester likes to think he's a badass."

"Lester is a badass," Jigsaw said, "You don't want to fuck with him unless you have special privileges."

Ten minutes later she let herself into Joe's place and put Bob out. He peed and came back inside. She was wiped. It was a broken foot, she hadn't taken painkillers yet, and she wasn't sick, so why the hell was she so damned tired? She didn't bother with the stairs and flopped on the world's most comfy sofa. Bob got up beside her, and she decided to lie down, propping her busted foot on the dog. He wagged his tail and then started snoring. There was a pointed quality to the rumble coming from the dog, and Molly chuckled.

"You're such a goof; did I interrupt your afternoon nap?"

The snoring got decidedly louder and, she took that as an affirmative. There was a blanket on the back of the couch, and she stretched it over both of them. She was with Bob; the sofa was comfortable and the stairs were too much work. She was out in minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here's a nice long chapter. It has a little romance, a little smut, a little action... Enjoy! As usual, everything familiar belongs to JE.**

Joe looked at his watch for the fifteenth time in the last hour or so, and waited as the traffic inched forward. He looked down at his phone again and swore. Another text read, and unanswered. He didn't really blame Molly for being pissed; she was used to being stood up, and he told her he'd be different. But he basically had just done the exact same thing as all of those other guys. He said he'd be home, with dinner, at 5:30, and then he got dragged into a long meeting with the DA and didn't realize how late it was until he got back to his office at 6:20, at which time he called her and texted her, but she didn't pick up. He knew she was getting the text messages because he was getting read receipts after each one, and she wasn't responding.

"Fuck," he said. He tried Molly's phone again, and again it went to voicemail. Yeah, he screwed up, but they'd only met two days prior, if she couldn't handle the fact that cops don't always get regular hours, then they were both better off realizing this wasn't going to work, early. He'd apologized, and he told her he wouldn't be able to get away until closer to eight. If she wanted to be pissed off, that was her prerogative. Except, he didn't really believe that. He wanted to make it up to her, and he was pissed at himself.

He finally pulled into the driveway at 8:10, it was getting dark, and he could see the light on in the kitchen. His neighbor Mrs. Kusak was sitting on her step when he went up the stairs. "Shame on you for getting home so late. I distinctly heard her tell your mother that you would be home around 5:30."

"My mother was here?" Joe asked.

"It's Monday."

"Damn," Joe said. When he was laid up with the leg wound a couple of years prior, he'd made the comment that his mother always seemed to luck out with the best produce when she did the grocery shopping. She told him that she had a place she went to in Princeton for all of her fruit and vegetables, and since then, every Monday when she drove to Princeton, she'd buy him a fridge full of veggies.

"I suppose she stayed and cooked?" Joe said.

"No, your young woman was making pastry that smelled heavenly, and they talked about the benefits of using a food processor versus a pastry knife."

"Thanks," Joe said.

He walked inside, and the aroma coming from the kitchen didn't smell like pastry; it smelled like cooking butter, and his stomach growled. He toed off his shoes, and walked to the back of the house, and looked in the kitchen. Molly was wearing a pair of heather grey and purple cotton shorts, and a little white tank top. She was barefoot, her hair in the same type of braid she'd been wearing in the morning. She was standing in front of the stove, half kneeling on a stool, keeping her weight off of her broken foot.

Bob was on the floor, staring up at her with a look of rapture on his face, and a paw on her leg, so she didn't forget that he was there.

"I told you to be patient," Molly said to Bob. "I'm going to finish this sauce first, and then I'll finish making your dinner. Your dad is probably going to be home soon, and he's probably going to be starving. That is of course if he hasn't texted me to tell me he's grabbing a sandwich at his desk or something. If you were a gentleman, you'd tell me where I left my phone, I know you know."

Bob pawed at her, and she scratched his head, put a lid on a pot, and picked up another saucepan. She poured the contents into Bob's dish, and the dog made the weirdest noise of anticipation. She hopped a little, taking her foot off of the stool, and then sat down, and put Bob's dish on the floor. "He is just late, right? He's probably called, and I just missed it, right?" Molly said. "You don't think he… No, he's just late."

"Hey," Joe said. She spun around and looked up at him, her face breaking into a relieved smile.

"Hey," she said. "I hope you don't mind that I cooked. I know you said you were going to get take out when you came home, but I was getting hungry."

"It smells amazing," Joe said.

"Thanks," she said.

"You cooked for Bob?"

"Well he was low on dog food," Molly said, "And besides, I was going to make enough for everybody, and he's a somebody. Wookiee are people too."

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said.

"Actually your timing is excellent," Molly said. "Dinner is going to be ready in about four minutes, so you've got just enough time to change your clothes, and kiss me hello if that's what you want you to do."

"It's not often I can say I feel overdressed," Joe said.

"Well I was going to eat dinner and curl up on the sofa to sleep," she said.

"At 8:00?"

"I figured by the time I finished eating and did the dishes, it would be closer to 9:30," she said. "I do get up really early you know?"

He walked closer to her, and held out a hand, "Come here," he said. She got to her foot, and he kissed her hello. He picked her up and put her ass on a bare patch of counter, so she didn't have to try to stand on her tip toes, on one foot.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"About these little shorts," he said. "I have a problem."

"Oh?"

"Well you're going to be sleeping with me tonight, and it's going to take a lot of effort, not to feel you up a lot. They are practically begging me to touch you. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, because I'll be worried about what my unconscious self is going to do."

"Would it help if I just didn't wear them to bed?" Molly asked.

"That depends on what's going to take their place?"

"Nothing," Molly said.

"That's not going to make it easier," Joe said.

"What if I gave you permission to touch, as much as you want?"

He kissed her again, and he was in the process of peeling off her tank top when the oven buzzed.

"Hold that thought, I'm hungry," Molly said.

He lifted her off of the counter, pressing her body to his, as she slowly slid to her feet. "I'm hungry too."

"For food?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm starving."

"Good, me too," she said with a giggle. "Get dessert out of the oven."

While he pulled a strudel out of the oven, to cool while they ate, she tossed some penne noodles and cubed chicken into a cream sauce that was the wrong color to be Alfredo sauce. It was a little too golden. She served it into pasta bowls, and put some steamed asparagus on the side.

She handed him the bowls, and he carried them to the kitchen table, while she attempted her crutches again. "I'm trying to decide if we need to find you a different solution for your mobility, or if you just need more practice with those things," Joe said.

"Give me a break," Molly said, "I've never used them before!"

He helped her into her seat and then went to the fridge to get them drinks. "Beer?"

"No thanks," Molly said, "I took one of those painkillers earlier, and it's probably a bad idea to mix it with alcohol."

"Good idea," he said. He brought Molly a glass of ice water, because that was the only other thing he had to offer, and brought his beer to the table.

"Can I talk to you about something that is absolutely none of my business?" she asked.

"Does it have to do with Stephanie?" Joe asked.

"No," Molly said, "Though now that you mention her, I spoke to Lester today, and apparently Ric is keeping our whatever this is from her, so she doesn't get all weird about it."

"Well, first of all, I'm not keeping you a secret Molly," Joe said, "We aren't doing anything wrong. And second, there is no way that Stephanie doesn't know that you're staying here."

"What do you mean?" Molly said.

"Well her mother probably got phone calls from everyone on the street when you came home today, and she was here the other night, she heard you upstairs. She's met you, and your accent is sort of distinctive. If I know that woman at all, she's made some sort of deal with your cousin, so she doesn't have to deal with Lester's griping."

Molly burst out laughing, "That's actually kind of genius. He wrote off her car today when he found out."

"How expensive was the car?"

"Very, it was a 911 cabriolet," Molly said.

"How new was it?" Joe asked with a grin.

"She'd just picked it up," Molly said.

"Ranger must have done something special to it," Joe said. "The lifespan of her cars is directly proportional to their value. If she has to carry a case of motor oil and a spare battery in the back of it, the car will last forever, if it's remarkable in any way, it'll die some spectacular death. We have a special file at the station with pictures of all of them."

"How many have there been?"

"I've lost count. My favorite will always be the Boxter that got crushed under the exploded garbage truck," Joe said. "Although the SUV that got gutted by a pack of lab monkeys was pretty good."

"Now you're just pulling my leg," Molly said.

"Nope," Joe said. "We thought we were going to have to put her in witness relocation after the Boxter."

"Nah," Molly said, "If Ric liked her enough to let her drive his car, being pissed off never would have crossed his mind. Cars can be replaced, and people can't."

"We kind of went off track, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh!" She said, "Your foundation is sinking. It's not going to be cheap, but it would be a good idea to get on it as soon as possible. Right now it'll probably cost you a few grand, but if you leave it too long, it'll be a thirty thousand dollar problem. I was worried about telling you because I didn't want you to think that because you invited me to stay for a couple of weeks, that I was already nesting or something. But you're a cop, so your finances are limited, and I couldn't live with myself if I found out you were stuck having to take out a loan to fix your house, or you'd tried to sell it and took a bath because foundation repairs were going to be required."

"Wait," Joe said, holding up his hands, "How the hell do you know that my foundation is sinking?"

"Joe, I'm a florist, but if you remember I have a degree in Architectural Engineering. Before I started the florist gig, I was called in for a lot of major renovations. I know a sinking foundation when I see it."

"My basement isn't leaking," Joe said. "My floors don't sag…"

"Good," Molly said, "But your front and back yards have the same elevation, and your front yard has soggy areas, but if you want to have a lawn out back, you need to use a sprinkler because it's so dry. That's a problem with your foundation dude, something ain't draining right."

"You're sure about this?"

"90% sure," Molly said, "I can't be positive until I get a look at the basement, but I didn't want to chance the stairs alone. It was difficult enough getting up to your room to change into my PJs. If you know a contractor you can trust, he could come have a look and back me up."

"I'll get my brother to drop by in the morning," he said. He sent Tony a quick text and got an immediate response. Joe started chuckling.

"What?"

"I just told my brother that you think the foundation is sinking, and he replied with, "Sorry, meant to say something last time I was over. It is, and you want to get on that before it becomes a $30K problem."

"What can I say? Great minds think alike."

"I'd hardly count Tony as a great mind, but he does know what he's doing when it comes to house construction," Joe said. "And you're a liar by the way."

"I am not!" Molly protested.

"You totally started nesting when you got here. This house was built for a family, and I've yet to date a woman who hasn't started thinking about what she'd do to it if she lived here."

"Well okay, there are a few things I'd change, but nothing major."

"Let me guess, you'd paint. The eggshell is boring."

"Very, but you'd be an idiot to paint it a different color while Bob's alive. I went pee and came out to see him chewing a wall. I stopped him before he did any damage, but I'm guessing that it's not exactly his first time eating drywall when he was anxious."

"No, it's not," Joe said.

"Eggshell paint is easy to clean, and the pale cream doesn't fade. Makes it so you can do a patch job instead of painting the whole bottom floor every time Bob gets bored. Mets tickets are a better use of your disposable income."

Joe dropped his fork, "Is it too early to propose marriage? Because I think you're the only other person on the planet who gets it."

Molly giggled behind her hand and put her own fork down. She took his hand and fought a smile as she tried to earnestly gaze into his eyes without laughing. "You can ask, but I'll say no. We haven't had sex yet, and I need to take you for a test drive before I commit to anything."

"Honey, you're not going to be disappointed."

"We'll see," she said.

"Well I was just thinking, you get the thing about the paint, you like baseball, and you can cook. If that strudel is any good, I'm not really going to have any choice."

"Sounds like a lot is riding on that dessert."

"It is," he said.

"Joe, when you try that, you're going to be dragging me to Vegas," she said. He got up and cut a piece off with a clean fork. He took a bite, and then put the whole thing in the fridge. Molly shrieked when he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder and jogged towards the stairs.

"What are you doing?" She laughed.

"Locking this shit down, right now," Joe said.

"My crutches!"

"Forget 'em, I'll go back for them later."

He made it to the bedroom door and kicked it closed behind him. He was gentle when he put Molly down on the bed, and then he immediately stripped his shirt.

"Oh, fuck," Molly said.

"What?"

"You're really hot," she said. "I'm a bit nervous actually. It's been a really long time, and I'm worried I might be all talk."

"I'll take it easy," he said. "You are injured after all."

"Oh please don't," she said. "I really don't want easy."

"Whatever you say, Sweetheart," he said. He dropped onto the bed, and nudged her knees apart, to kneel between them. He braced himself over her and kissed her. When they'd made out the first time, it was fun, drunken, and a little sloppy. The second and third times had been almost sweet. This was demanding, and it was clear, that short of a bomb going off, he wasn't going to allow for interruptions this time.

They broke for air long enough to dispose of her tank top. She pushed on Joe's shoulder, to get him to roll onto his back, so she could be on top. She wanted to explore him, to touch and taste the well-defined pecs and abs. She wasn't nervous anymore, not by a long shot. Not even her foot, which had been a heavy, dull, aching annoyance all day was forgotten, as she kissed her way down his chest, and flicked her tongue over his abs. He hissed when she nipped at the flesh just beneath his navel, and she unbuckled his belt. That was as much control he was willing to let her have before he sat up, and gently rolled her back onto her back.

"I wasn't finished," she said.

"You're going to be," he said. "Grab onto the headboard."

"Why?" She asked. "I like to touch."

"And it's highly encouraged," he said. "I just don't want you distracting me by pulling my hair while I do my favorite thing."

It was his turn to kiss and lick his way down her body, taking time to lavish attention on her breasts, before she lifted her hips so he could take her shorts off. Then he held her hips down with his forearm, and then his mouth was on her, and she bucked against him, letting out a startled gasp. She let go of the headboard and briefly pulled his hair, before releasing him and digging her nails into the sheet beside her instead. She wasn't a screamer. She was surprisingly quiet, but there was nothing reserved or passionless about her. She was trying to keep her breathing even. The natural inclination was to hold your breath, but by breathing, and focusing on the sensation, more blood could flow to the stimulated areas, intensifying the feeling.

He grinned, that was a tantric thing, and this was going to be fun. When she let go, it was going to be huge, and sure enough a few minutes later her legs began to tremble, and her composure was lost. She cried out his name, but she didn't ask him to stop. She was riding the wave as long as she could. He scooped her off of the bed, so she was straddling his lap, and he gently stroked her back and kissed her throat, while she came down. "Breathe with me," he said.

She nodded, and pressed her forehead to his, and gradually slowed her breathing to match his. "You're really good at that," she said.

"I know," he said.

"Do it again," she said.

"Can you handle it again?" he asked. "Because I'm not nearly close to being done with you, and you need to pace yourself."

"Bring it, Detective Morelli," she said.

What started off as playful, turned passionate, and finally primal. There was nothing sweet, gentle or easy about the way he finally took her, it was instinct that had them clinging to the pleasure leaving them coated in sweat, and shaking. When they finished, he flopped onto his back, breathing hard with his heart pounding.

"Would you say yes to Vegas now?" He asked.

"Oh yeah," Molly said. "That was incredible."

"Are you sure it was incredible?" Joe asked.

She chuckled breathlessly. "Yup."

"Really? You might have just been hungry."

That made her laugh, a deep belly laugh and he rolled back on top of her. "Maybe you should have seconds to be sure," Joe said.

"Are you ready for seconds?"

"Always," he said.

"Are you human?"

"Nope, Sex God."

"I should give you shit for being so damned arrogant…"

"But…"

"I can't help thinking, 'lucky me.'"

"Grab onto the headboard," he said.

"No," she said and shoved him onto his back. "You hold onto the headboard."

It was nearing midnight when they fell into an exhausted sleep. Joe had the foresight to feed her a couple of Advil and to elevate her foot before they passed out. It was 2:00 on the nose, when a loud crack shattered the quiet of the house, and they were wrenched from sleep. Joe was out of bed before the sound had finished resonating in the street. He yanked on his jeans, and went for his gun, just as they heard the sound of glass being smashed.

Joe went to the door and whistled for Bob, who came bounding up the stairs. "Look after Molly," Joe said.

Bob leaped onto the bed, turned his back to Molly and let out a low growl when they heard more glass breaking.

"You're going?" Molly said.

"That crack we heard was the sound of a gun being fired," he said. "I have to go."

"Please don't go," she begged. "Stay here with me. I…"

"I'm a cop; it's my job, I'll be fine."

"You don't know that," she said.

"Molly, I promise you, you're safe," he said. He picked up a shirt and left her sitting on the bed.

He got to the front door just as a silver Toyota Prius with no plates sped away from the street in front of his house. He shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers and went outside. The second he stepped onto the porch, the calvary in the form of his neighbors came out wielding weapons ranging from golf clubs to semiautomatic weapons. "Who fired the shot?" Joe called.

Nobody answered.

"Is anyone hurt?" Joe tried.

"Just my car!" Mrs. Kusak cried from her front step.

Mrs. Kusak drove a Jeep that was the same model year as Joe's, but instead of being green was a dark blue. It was parked on the street in front of his house because Mrs. Kusak was getting her driveway re-sealed. The sound of glass breaking had been the sound of someone destroying her car windows. Something they'd done after they'd taken the time to spray paint, "Fucking Dumb Ass Cop!" and "Die Pig!" In glow-in-the-dark paint, all over her car.

"Go inside and call the police," Joe said.

"Why? You're already here," Mrs. Kusak said.

"Just call the police," Joe said. "Everyone else, go back into your houses. You're safer there until the cops get here, and then you can come out to stare all you want."

For a second everyone stayed on their porches, "Move, or I tell the uniforms to check for permits when they get here."

That cleared everyone off of their stoops, and he jogged back inside to go check on Molly and Bob. Molly was not okay. She was sitting on the bed, with her knees drawn tightly to her chest, shaking and attempting to muffle the sounds of what appeared to be painful sobs, with a pillow.

He ran to the bed, put his gun down on the nightstand and shoved Bob out of the way so he could put his arms around Molly. It only caused her to cling to him and cry harder.

"I had to make sure nobody was hurt; I'm not going anywhere now," Joe said. "You're okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"It's not okay!" She said. "I lied, Joe. Ric doesn't put protection on me because I work for him sometimes. It's because of Lucien! My ex won't leave me alone. Every time a guy is interested in me, he chases them off. The last guy I slept with, got the shit kicked out of him, and spent a week in a coma because he saw me naked. I should have said something, I know I should have told you, but I really like you, and I was being selfish."

"Why don't you get a restraining order?"

"Don't you think I've tried? The judge told me that I was just trying to get out of paying alimony and that if I tried a stunt like that again, he'd charge me with contempt of court and put me in jail. I have nothing because of Lucien. Nothing. He took everything. I'm barely keeping my head above water, and he's relentless."

"What about Ranger?"

"Until about a year ago, he didn't know. I was on a date, and because I have a bladder the size of a thimble, I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, my date was gone, and Lucien was at my table. When I sat down, he told me that I was obviously not getting the message, so he was going to have to step things up, and then he left. He'd ordered $300 worth of wine, and I had maybe $60 in the bank. I had to call Ric, and that's when I told him what was going on. Lucien backed off for a little while, but do you have any idea how hard it is to date someone when you have to move around with a wall of muscle everywhere?"

"Where is your muscle now?"

"JigSaw is at home," Molly said. "We didn't think it would be necessary for him to be here after you came home because we didn't think Lucien would be stupid enough to go after a cop. I'm so sorry Joe. I'm so so sorry."

"Why didn't you say something to me sooner?" He asked.

"Because I wanted you to like me," she said. "And I hoped after the last time, that Lucien was finished humiliating me."

"What happened the last time?"

"It was during the winter, Lester was being a jackass, and he was obsessing over everything I did in the store, and I couldn't take it anymore. I disabled the cameras, so they only recorded but didn't transmit to Rangeman. Ric was swinging by every day to collect the footage from the day before. Then Ric went to Florida, and just before he came back, Lucien came to the store, but he wasn't there to be awful or serve me with papers. He…he brought me flowers."

"He brought you flowers?" Joe said incredulously.

"Yes," Molly said. "He said it was the perfect gift for a florist because nobody ever thinks of them as a gift. Lucien was big on the language of flowers, and what they symbolize. He'd put together this absolutely beautiful bouquet with purple hyacinth, gloxinia, and a single red rose. The flowers are supposed to represent forgiveness, love at first sight, and a single red rose means I still love you. He asked me if we could talk. He said he had to explain something to me, and he begged me to give him a few minutes to speak. I told him I had to think about it, and he reminded me of the day we met. And how perfect everything was in Germany, and when we first moved to New York. He left me with a copy of a Real Estate listing, for this building in Paris, in the Latin quarter, down this little road that looks like walking down Diagonal Alley. The lower level was a storefront that would have been brilliant as a flower shop, and the upper levels made up a single flat, that was just beautiful. He told me he'd bought it, and that after we spoke, if I could forgive him, we could move there in a heartbeat.

I used to have dreams where exactly that happened, that he'd come to me and tell me it was all some horrible, awful mistake. He texted me about a hundred times over the next couple of days, and I agreed to meet in him New York, at our old building. I got there, and security escorted me off of the premises.

They told me that Lucien said if I came within twenty feet of the building again, he was going to file a restraining order.

I thought it had to be a big mistake, and when I got home I called him, and the number we'd been using wasn't in service anymore. A couple of days later he showed up at my store, and he was so awful and cruel. He said it was too fucking easy, and it wasn't even fun anymore. He said he had a bet with our friend Max, that he could get me on the hook again and crush me all over again. He said that Max told him that I wasn't stupid and that I'd never go for it. But I did. Then Lester showed up and dragged him out of the store, and the last thing Lucien said to me was that I wasn't even worth the trouble anymore."

"Can I ask why you broke up?" Joe asked.

"I don't know," Molly said. "I honestly have no idea. One minute things were perfect, and we were happy. The next Lucien's telling me that he's changed his mind and that he'd been faking it for months because his parents liked me, but he couldn't do it anymore. I've never been more shocked by anything in my life, and then it was like he was this completely different person. There was this side of him I'd never seen before. And the shit he said about me in public, everyone I thought was a friend defected, even my Maggie. I just…"

"Who's Maggie?"

"My best friend. I was living with her after Lucien, and I split. On the evening of the final judgment, when the divorce was finally over, and I'd lost everything, my store, my reputation, my credit, all of it, I went to go to her place, and my security card didn't work. The doorman told me it had been canceled. I called up to get the maid to come down and get me, and she told me she'd been instructed by Maggie to pack my things, and that her father didn't want me in the condo in case I stole something else."

"But I'm guessing you didn't steal anything," Joe said.

"Of course not," Molly said. "I couldn't even tell you what I was accused of stealing. Whatever it was I was supposed to have taken, would have to have been important, because quite frankly if it weren't, and merely something with monetary value, Maggie would probably have just smacked me upside the head and told me I should have taken cash because then I wouldn't need a fence."

"Would Lucien know what it would take to ruin that friendship?"

"Yes," Molly said. "And I keep trying to find reasons for why he's done all of this, and I just can't. I cannot think of anything so heinous that would make him want this sort of retribution. If he hated our life in New York so much, all he would have to do is tell me, and I'd have given it up. Maggie could have kept the business going from her end, and I could have worked anywhere. There was never even the slightest inkling that he was unhappy. Did I miss it? Is that why he hates me so much?"

"Do you still love him?"

"I wake up in the morning, and I look around my apartment and hate every aspect of it. I go to my pretty little shop that stinks of the paper recycling plant and, the deep fryers of the diner next door. I'm exhausted, physically, emotionally, and the only thing frivolous I do with my money is save a little bit each week so I can dye my hair once every two months. And I can't even dye it the right color because purple is expensive to maintain."

"You had purple hair?" Joe asked with a chuckle.

"Yeah," Molly said, "Before it was trendy. I've dyed it dark purple since I was eighteen. He took my home, my money, my friends, humiliated me in front of all of my family. I go to family gatherings, and I'm an object of pity, and I don't even look like myself when I look in the mirror anymore, because of him. He's gone to great pains to make sure that I hurt every single fucking day. How could I possibly love him?"

The doorbell rang, and they both looked towards the stairs. Joe shifted her from his lap and handed her a box of tissues from the nightstand. The walls of the bedroom were dappled with the strobing red and blue lights of the squad cars on the street. "They'll be looking for a statement from me. Are you all right here with Bob? If you're not, I'll call dispatch and tell them to send someone upstairs, and I'll talk to them in the hall."

"That's a bit ridiculous," Molly said. "I'll be fine. You do what you have to do."

"Do you have a picture of Lucien somewhere so I can give it to the uniforms to canvas with?"

"There will be one on the internet, if you can figure out where I put my phone down, I can find it for you."

"Facebook?"

"No Lucien doesn't like social media; he says it gets in the way of actual conversations with friends."

"It's charging in the bathroom," Joe said, "I found it just outside the door when I went to get you your Advil."

He jogged down the hall and got her phone. She went online and found a picture of the pair of them at some event. She was wearing a stunning black evening gown that plunged to the waist, and Lucien was wearing a tuxedo the same dark blue-purple as her hair. Joe sent the picture to his phone and cropped it so that it just showed Lucien.

"What's his last name?" Joe asked.

"Brasseau," Molly said.

"I won't be long," he said. Molly nodded, and he went downstairs, to open the door. He told them that Molly might have a stalker and that it was possible that he was the one behind the vandalism. He gave them the picture of Brasseau and told them to come back after their canvas.

When he got back upstairs, Molly was wearing her little shorts, and the tank top again. She'd added a hooded sweatshirt, and she was sitting on the floor next to her crutches, packing her things in her bag.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked.

"I called JigSaw," Molly said. "He's on his way."

"The street is going to be filled with cops for the rest of the night; you're well protected."

"Joe, it may have been a long time since I've actually gone to bed with someone, but I have actually done a few turns around this barbecue. I meet a guy, I like a guy, we hit it off, Lucien does something, and if they don't immediately fuck off on me, they demand to know all of the bullshit he's put me through if I'm not immediately forced to divulge that information anyway. The next part is where you tell me to call you when I have it all sorted out."

"And you think I'm going to do that?"

"Aren't you?" Molly said. "Tell me that's not what you were wondering downstairs. That you weren't thinking, 'Fuck I just got out of a relationship with a woman with a lot of baggage, I don't need this shit right now.'"

"I've spent the better part of my day alternating between reminding myself that I just fucking met you, and congratulating myself on the genius of asking you to stay with me. When I'm not thinking of that, I'm trying to come up with reasons to convince you to stay longer, that aren't completely fucking insane."

"Such as?" Molly asked.

"I know from experience that it's impossible to bathe yourself when you have a cast on your leg. You're going to need someone to help you, and your bathroom is too small to accommodate the room you need."

"That's a good one, but I'd be out of my cast when I left."

"I thought of that too," Joe said. "It's the middle of the night, you're thirsty, your floors are slippery laminate, and you've taken your boot off to go to bed. Wouldn't it be easier just to wake me up to get you a drink?"

"And what if I need to pee, and it's urgent? I'd never make it in time."

"I could carry you like I did this morning."

"Those are compelling arguments, Joe; I'd have probably been swayed by them," Molly said.

Joe walked to her, and helped her to her feet, "The only thing I was thinking while I was downstairs, was that I have a bruise on my ass from where your cast kept banging against it, and your foot is going to hurt like a bitch when you get up. If you're leaving here tonight, it's because it's what you want. Just leave a key so I can get in after the police leave without you having to risk your neck on the stairs."

"I don't want to leave," she said.

Joe picked her up and carried her back to the bed. He put her down, tucked her in, and then sat on the mattress next to her.

"I'll stay here until they need me again," Joe said. "Try to get some sleep."

He reached for the bedside lamp, and she put her hand on his arm, "Leave it on?"

"Okay," he said. Molly had to sleep on her back so she could keep her foot elevated, so he stretched out next to her, and put his arm around her, and she nestled in as close as she could get. Her face turned towards him. "I'm a stubborn son of a bitch, Molly. My gut is telling me that we're going to be really good together, and I'm not going to let some asshole in a purple suit get in the way of this."

"Well he doesn't wear the purple suit all of the time; he's not Killgrave," Molly said. "He only wore it on special occasions."

"It's a purple tux. Who the hell wears a purple tux?"

"He wanted everyone to know that we were together, and my hair was sort of my signature."

"Your hair looked great in that picture," Joe said. "But his tux was still purple. I can't believe you let him leave the house like that."

"I couldn't stop him," Molly said, "He was going to wear it to our wedding, and Maggie bribed the dry cleaners to destroy it."

"Well, I look terrible in suits, and just because I think your hair looks cool with the red in it, I'm not going to start walking around in red jeans, just to let everyone know that we're together."

"You're not going to write my name on a bathroom wall or anything, are you?"

"Nah, I figure I'll just tell people."

"How pedestrian," Molly said.

"Yet effective," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

**_AN: Thank you to everyone for reading! Usual disclaimers apply, and I hope you enjoy this chapter._**

Molly's foot was throbbing when she got up the next morning, to the point that she needed to take one of the Vicodin, and keep the store closed for the day. Joe couldn't take the day off work to look after her, so his mother came over, and when he left, Molly was sound asleep, cuddling Bob.

When he got to work, Ranger was waiting for him in the parking lot with another man who was, leaning up against a big Oldsmobile Cutlass. "I don't think you've been introduced. Jig Saw, meet Morelli. Morelli, JigSaw."

"You look really familiar," Joe said.

"I was your cab driver the other night," JigSaw said. "Get used to my face. You'll be seeing a lot of it."

JigSaw was a big guy, but thin in an unhealthy kind of way. Half of his face was heavily scarred and looked like it had been sewn back together like a patchwork quilt whose blocks didn't quite fit, or a puzzle with some pieces crammed in incorrectly. In fact, he had several mismatched puzzle pieces tattooed on half of his face, to augment this impression.

"I think I would have remembered a cab driver with your tats."

"Tattoo coverup; the ink doesn't play well when there are kids around," JigSaw said.

"You moonlight as a cabbie?"

"Nope," he said, "Molly doesn't drink to get shit faced. I figured something was up, and it'd be best to keep an eye on her. That and I wanted to make sure she got into your house without breaking her neck."

"You weren't going to stop me from taking advantage of her?"

"The boss said it wasn't your style, and I knew she'd probably pass out the second she was horizontal."

"You were right about that," Joe said.

"I know," he said. "Molly told me."

"Why do you protect her?"

"Because most of the men scare the shit out of her," JigSaw said, "And those that don't, think of her as a little sister. Not an ideal situation for a bodyguard."

"Why?"

"What would you do if you witnessed some drunk asshole taking your little sister's bra off with his teeth, in the back of a taxi?"

"Shoot him," Joe said.

"Mostly I was just impressed," JigSaw said. "How the fuck did you do that?"

"A little slight of hand, and it only works if it clasps at the front," Joe said.

"I may not have any say in who Molly chooses to fuck, but it would be wise to keep in mind that she is my cousin, and I don't want or need to know the specifics of her sex life," Ranger said.

"You're resisting the urge to reach for your gun?" Joe said.

"No, but mostly because a gun would be too quick," Ranger said.

"Who's watching the house?" Joe asked. "I take it you heard what happened last night and that's why you're here?"

"Ram and Hal are parked across the street right now," Ranger said. "They've been there since we heard the call on the police band last night. Given the circumstances, I'm not comfortable with it taking more than thirty seconds to get to her."

"I'm not either," Joe said.

"Brasseau knows JigSaw's car; once JigSaw is on the street, Brasseau won't go anywhere near the house," Ranger said.

"Why?"

"Because if he goes near her, I'll kill him. And I'd serve my time with no regrets," JigSaw said.

"You know I'm a cop right?" Joe said.

"Yep," JigSaw said.

JigSaw got into the Cutlass, and Ranger followed Joe into the station, to the break room for some coffee. Joe poured himself a cup, and it was decent, but he was already a convert. Whatever Molly put in the coffee to make it taste the way it did when she made it, was addictive.

"What's JigSaw's deal?" Joe asked.

"He's a highly skilled, high-functioning sociopath who is very loyal to Molly."

"Why?"

"She met him while he was in Germany, at Landstuhl Medical Centre just after he got his scars and instead of shrinking from his injuries, she asked him if he was any good at trigonometry because she had a problem set that was being a bitch. She introduced us while I was there visiting some of my men."

"What was she doing there?" Joe asked. Landstuhl was where American Military went when they were seriously injured overseas.

"Her father likes to tour the hospital once a month, and he usually brought her along."

"To volunteer?"

"For practical application of her mechanical engineering minor."

"At the hospital?"

"On the autobahns; he was teaching her to drive the shit out of her car on unrestricted highways."

Joe grinned. "You didn't come to the station just to make an introduction."

"Nope," Ranger said. "She's told you that I've only recently been made aware of the extent of the situation with Brasseau?"

"How recently are we talking?"

"The last eight months or so," Ranger said. "I knew he was a pain in the ass, but she kept the stalking close to the vest."

"Why?" Joe asked. "She doesn't have a problem with her security."

"She's still getting used to the idea that she can trust me," Ranger said.

"What the hell happened between you?"

"Well between the ages of 3 and 13 she was my verbal punching bag whenever I was in a bad mood, and I was a fucking angry kid. Then when her mother died, I told her that it was a relief that Uncle Javi wasn't able to adopt Molly because it meant that we didn't have to pretend that she was family anymore."

"The only reason I'm not punching you in the teeth right now is that Stephanie claims you've grown since then."

"Does it make it better if I tell you that I said it because I was upset her mother died, and pissed off that Molly was going?"

"No," Joe said, "Why would it make it better?"

"It did for Molly, we hashed things out just before I joined the army, but some wounds cut pretty fucking deep," Ranger said. "When she called me the night Lucien stuck her with a bill she couldn't pay, I started digging. Molly was a member of the glitterati in New York. Her wedding was the invitation to get, and the reception was going to be held at a hotel that Molly designed back when she was an architect, but she was being courted by other establishments to host the rehearsal dinner."

"Okay," Joe said. "So?"

"It means that they were offering her big discounts to have her party with them. In exchange, when Molly signed the contract for the rehearsal dinner, she agreed to let them film the party with something better than a security camera, on the condition that she was allowed to approve anything they wished to use in their promotional material. I bought the footage from that night."

"Weren't you there?" Joe asked.

"I was," Ranger said. "But I wasn't in the room when it went down."

"Where were you?"

"You and Stephanie were in an on phase, and Molly had some very attractive friends with bad boy fixations," Ranger said. "My father came to get me when it happened because someone needed to disarm Lester, and JigSaw refused to do it."

"Did you see anything on the video?"

"What I saw, was a man who was looking forward to getting married. There was nothing about his behavior or body language that suggested that he was getting cold feet. And then he got a phone call."

"What happened on the call?"

"I don't know, there's no audio," Ranger said. "He took a call, and he went out to the front lobby where he spoke to a man who was standing off camera. He left for a few minutes, and when he returned, he took Molly out to the terrace and broke up with her while everyone was watching. He didn't want to let her go, and he broke down almost as soon as he was out of the party."

"You think whoever was on that phone made him end the relationship with Molly."

"I do," Ranger said. "And yesterday I found proof."

"What proof?" Joe asked.

"When Molly was stood up again on Saturday, I went back over the footage from their last encounter, and I noticed his speech had an unusual cadence to it. There were a lot of strange pauses and hurried sentences. I enhanced the footage, and discovered that Lucien was wearing an almost invisible earwig."

"You think someone was telling him what to say," Joe said.

"I went back over the footage from the rehearsal and confirmed that before the phone call he wasn't wearing an earpiece. After the call, he was."

"Do you have any idea who the man was?"

"Nope, but he was a professional."

"How do you know?"

"The only part of him that appears on camera is a gloved hand," Ranger said. "He's standing near no reflective surfaces, and not even his shadow appears on camera anywhere to give us an idea of his build. That wasn't an accident."

"So you think Brasseau is still acting under duress," Joe said.

"Sorry, man," Ranger said.

"Molly's not going to forgive him, if that's what you're thinking," Joe said. "I'm not worried."

"Her best friend in the world deserted her after swearing she'd stick by her. It was as significant a betrayal as Lucien's and Molly still wears the watch, Maggie gave her. She'd forgive Maggie in a heartbeat, because of their history."

"You're assuming that Molly thinks Maggie needs forgiveness. She doesn't see what Maggie did as a betrayal; she sees Maggie as a casualty of Lucien's idiocy. Lucien, on the other hand, will be lucky if she lets him keep his balls. He could have gone to you, or Lester, or JigSaw at some point in all of this, and he didn't. Instead, he thought torturing Molly was the best way to protect her. If that's what's he's trying to do; let's not forget the man he put in a coma."

"Brasseau didn't just put him in a coma. The man was a concert pianist, I say, 'was,' because after Brasseau beat the shit out of him, Lucien slammed his hands in the sliding door of a minivan, and left him there. He lost two fingers and required extensive surgery to save the others."

"And Brasseau isn't in jail because?"

"Insufficient evidence," Ranger said.

"So what is the plan regarding Molly's security?" Joe asked.

"She's asked me to back off," Ranger said. "She doesn't want the history between you and me interfering with whatever you two have going on right now. I'm willing to accommodate that request but only so much."

"I don't give a shit about our history," Joe said. "I want her protected."

"You might want to tell her that," Ranger said, "In the meantime, I'm going to park a car on your street with cameras that are set up to monitor the house. They will be watched by men back at Rangeman. JigSaw will shadow Molly when you're not around. She knows to text him if you get called out to a crime."

"JigSaw can't be on duty all of the time," Joe said.

"No," Ranger said, "He's bringing in a team from Boston. Most of them don't know her well so it shouldn't be a . I've emailed you their ID's. If someone comes to you that you don't know, isn't in the file, or JigSaw hasn't introduced them to you, you're to detain them. If he's one of my men, he'll submit peacefully and wait until he's been cleared by either JigSaw or myself."

"And what does Molly do if I'm not there?"

"She asks them to wait outside, locks herself inside and contacts me. If the man isn't willing, she hits her panic button."

"Which she keeps on her at all times?" Joe said.

"Yes," Ranger said.

"And GPS?"

"In her watch," Ranger said.

"Anything else you think I should know?"

"Everything I know about Brasseau is in a file box on your desk right now," Ranger said. "And Lester's current happy place is a mental picture of you without any skin."

Joe grinned. "Speaking of Lester. I don't buy that Stephanie doesn't know about Molly and me."

"Steph owes me big time for this one," Ranger said. "Lester's whining is out of control. I'd shoot him and put him out of our misery, but I'd have to get my grandmother on board with the idea, and I don't think it's going to fly."

"I'd mock you for being afraid of your grandmother, but I'm not one to talk. I've got Bella."

"Combine Edna, and Bella, add some sanity and you have my grandmother," Ranger said.

"I'm not sure if I want to be terrified, or impressed by the idea," Joe said.

"And that's the way she likes it," Ranger said. "I'm out. Watch your back; you could take Brasseau, but he's smart, pissed off and patient. He'll look for an advantage, and he'll take it."

"Thanks," Joe said. He watched Ranger leave the break room and took another sip of his coffee and seriously considered going home to fill a travel mug. Instead, he texted Molly to let her know that he was going to bust her unless she told him what she laced his coffee with.

 _M- I look forward to your interrogation, Detective._

He tapped the details button in the text message window and pressed the call button.

"Hey," Molly said. "Didn't you just get to work?"

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" Joe asked.

"I'm apparently this tired because I'm too skinny," Molly said. "And because I have sensitive skin."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, obviously my inability to sleep last night had nothing to do with the fact that we were up late or that little disturbance with the cops and the vandalism that resulted in my freak out. It had to do with the fact that you don't change your bed linens as often as you should, and that's why my skin is so irritated this morning."

"Your skin is irritated this morning?" Joe asked.

"I have beard burn on my chest from your five o'clock shadow," Molly said, "Your mother knows it's beard burn, because she's not an idiot, but she came up while I was trying and failing to make the bed, and it was obvious that the sheets needed changing after last night. So while I'm downstairs enjoying pancakes with my Vicodin, we're both pretending that it's my sensitive skin that's precipitated the need for fresh linens. Oh and I hope you don't mind, but she insisted on washing my PJs for me even though they were barely worn, so now I'm wearing the t-shirt I borrowed the other night and your glow in the dark Ninja Turtle boxers. The possession of which there will be a serious discussion about, later."

"You do realize that's nuts, right?"

"Oh, she would have been thrilled pretending that I was staying in the guest room, and just using your room for the day because you don't have a television in the spare bedroom..."

"Except that you were sprawled out naked in my bed when she got there this morning, and you can both only pretend to so much ignorance before you start looking deluded," Joe said.

"Yep," Molly said. "Either way, we're both fully aware of the absurdity of the pretense, but it makes it feel less awkward that she's changing the bed linens because you and I had a lot of really great sex last night."

"If she gets overbearing, call me, and I'll do my paperwork at home."

"Don't worry about it; it's been a long time since I've been mothered properly and I'm enjoying it," Molly said. "Call me when you're on your way home, and I'll get dinner started."

"You don't have to do that," Joe said.

"I know," Molly said. "I didn't say I'd cook again; I might order a pizza."

"If you do, order it from Pinos, and I'll pick it up on my way home."

"Sounds like a plan," she yawned, "Sorry."

"Go to sleep, Sweetheart," Joe said.

"I might just," Molly said.

"Bye," he said, and she yawned a farewell. He smiled as he put his phone in his pocket and went out to the bullpen to see Eddie sitting at Joe's desk, reading a copy of Vogue.

"What are you looking at?" Joe asked.

"Manoso dropped this box off, and I've been reading about this chick Molly Von Grimmelsomething."

"She goes by Molly Von G," Joe said.

"That makes it easy," Gazzera said. "Anyway, is she a client of his or something?"

"Something like that," Joe said. "What are you learning?"

"She was a socialite that hung out with Margaret Rothes for a while and is now a bit of recluse. She's gorgeous."

"Margaret Rothes? As in Midas Maggie Rothes?" Joe said. Eddie nodded. Margaret Rothes was old money. Really old money and she had a lot of it. Her family made families like the Vanderbilts and Rotheschildes look like new money, and a lot of the New York City Skyline was owned in some way by her relatives. She was no celebutante either; she was renown for her business acumen, and her sixth sense when it came to venture capitalism. She earned her moniker for being able to turn almost any kind of business into a money making machine.

Eddie handed Joe the Vogue article, and it showed Molly with Maggie at the Met Gala the year after Molly opened her flower shop. The theme that year was flowers, as a commemoration of the 30th anniversary of the death of Lila Acheson Wallace. Wallace was one of the co-founders of Reader's Digest and had a wing of the museum named after her. She was also the one responsible for the endowment that allowed the Met to have enormous displays of fresh flowers in the great hall at all times.

While the customary displays were tended to by their usual curators, Molly had been responsible for everything else flower related that night, including collaborating with several fashion designers to incorporate fresh flowers into their client's gowns.

Ironically, Molly wasn't wearing a single bloom; instead, her gown was a sleek dark green silk, that with her deep purple hair was, according to the magazine, to be reminiscent of a professor iris. Around her neck, she wore an enormous jeweled fleur-de-lis that was on loan from the Brasseau family's collection. Maggie, on the other hand, wore a gown with a jewelled bodice, and a late Victorian era skirt and bustle, the six foot train of which, was detachable from the waist and made up of hundreds of flowers that had been hand sewn to a light mesh, by Molly the night before the gala.

The article was talking about the designs and the size of the crew that had been required to put together the event, and Molly was the mastermind behind most of it. While it didn't exactly make Molly a household name, it did put her on the map.

"How the hell did she land that contract?" Joe asked.

"Midas Maggie," Eddie said. "She was head of marketing for Von G Designs. She negotiated the deal, and Miss Von G did the rest. Her business went from a successful startup beginning to make a name for itself to, sensation overnight. Maggie stayed on for another six months after the Met Gala and then left. Says in another article that the parting was amicable." Eddie handed him a copy of Forbes. The article wasn't huge, it just mentioned the turnover from Maggie as head of marketing to someone Joe had never heard of, and a statement from Maggie.

 _"You all know how I feel about nepotism, so you know that I didn't take Molly Von G under my wing, just because she's the rainbow to my cloud. I did it because I see the genius in her work. When she was looking for investors in Von G Designs, I jumped on board knowing what a success it would be. I will continue to oversee the marketing campaigns to ensure that my successor doesn't drop the ball, but it's time for me to step back and let her work speak for itself."_

 _This isn't the first time Margaret Rothes, otherwise known as Midas Maggie, has used her influence to put a small company worth noticing onto our collective radars. Miss Rothes went on further to say that she will be working in an advisory capacity in two years time when Von G is expected to go public._

"Do you have the financials for Von G?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said, "Her primary investors were a Colonel Von G and M. Rothes. The company started making a profit almost right away, and by the time the Met Gala rolled around had two storefronts, a warehouse and was looking at purchasing some land in New Jersey to start growing their own flowers."

"Did they get the land?"

"Yes," Eddie said, "But nothing happened with it. It was sold at a loss a year and a half later."

"That would be after the divorce," Joe said.

"I haven't got that far into the box yet."

"Molly was in a formalized common-law relationship with a Frenchman, named Lucien Brasseau. It allowed them to get him a spousal visa before they were married. When they split, the court had to get involved. She got taken to the cleaners, and lost the business and pretty much everything else."

"What's your interest in this?" Eddie asked.

"Let's put it this way, she's wearing my underwear right now," Joe said.

"Aw man, thank you! I never, ever get to say this," Eddie said.

"What?"

"She's way the fuck out of your league. What the hell is she doing slumming with you?"

"If you'd met her before reading the article, you'd know that she's not what you're expecting. She's right though; she does look fantastic with purple hair."

"That wasn't just for the event?"

"Nope," Joe said, "She's had it since she was a teenager. Well not anymore, but she did."

"Yo Joe!"

Joe turned around and looked up at Officer Septimus Finch. Whenever Joe heard the name Septimus Finch, he thought of a Columbo-like character with a wrinkled trench coat and maybe a fedora. When Finch became a Detective, he was going to have to start writing his memoirs just because it sounded like he had the name of the lead in an Agatha Christie series. Finch looked like he was thirteen years old, and was used in a lot of sting operations because he was so baby-faced.

"What can I do for you?" Joe asked.

"I was one of the officers assigned to canvass your street last night," Finch said. "Four of your neighbors have doorbell cameras. All of the people that have them are pretty old. I guess they got new iPhones for Christmas and decided to take a class together at the Apple Store to learn how to use them. While they were there they got talked into getting these fancy doorbells; only they don't know how to retrieve the footage from them, so I took the liberty of going back over there this morning to see if they were able to get anything."

"And?" Eddie said.

"And what?"

"And were you able to find anything?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Finch said, "Well sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"Well the cameras don't point at your house exactly, so we don't see him do the Jeep, or get into the Prius that you saw drive off."

"But?" Joe asked.

"But he was walking down the street, holding a baseball bat."

"Show me," Joe said.

He pushed his chair away from his desk so Finch could plug the thumb drive into his computer. The camera had managed to capture the Cantarellas' house right next to Joes, and the corner of Joe's place, but not his driveway or Mrs. Kusak's house. The footage picked up the sound of a car trunk closing, and then an African American man, wearing a dark sleeveless hoodie, came into the frame carrying a baseball bat and hitching a bag over his shoulder. The camera recorded for a few seconds after he left the frame and they could hear the distinct rattle of a spray can being shaken. The next clip was time stamped a few minutes later and showed the same man running back from the direction he'd come from, and the sound of car doors slamming, and then the Prius sped through the frame.

"What did we miss?" Eddie asked. "What happened off frame?"

"That guy tagged my neighbor's Jeep thinking it was mine," Joe said. "Molly was pretty convinced it would be Brasseau. She'll be relieved to know that it wasn't."

"Can I watch the first clip again?" Eddie asked.

They watched it again, and Eddie shook his head. "He reminds me of someone."

Finch played it again, and paused on the clearest image of the guy, and zoomed in. With the picture enhanced it was possible to make out the tattoo on his bicep. It was the hands from Michelangelo's Creation of Adam. The man's shoulder had scars that looked like they were from road rash and added to the old painting effect of the tattoo.

"I can't place him," Eddie said.

"Maybe you recognize the Ink?" Finch said.

"No," Eddie said. "Play it again."

Finch played it again, and Eddie snapped his fingers. "Linda Reese."

"That Dude's one buff chick," Finch said.

"Yeah, Eddie needs a coffee," Joe said. "Or sleep. About the only thing that guy has in common with Linda Reese is that he's tall. Linda Reese is very white with a lot of blonde hair. I dated her briefly in High School."

"What Joe means is he slept with her once and went back to Terri Gillman. And I'm not crazy."

"Then you're going to have to explain yourself, or I'm going to start calling you Klinger?" Joe said.

"Who?" Finch asked.

"And now I'm old," Eddie said. "Klinger was this guy on the show MASH who kept trying to get a section 8 discharge by doing crazy things."

"They made a show about that fortune telling game you play as kids?"

"Oh my god," Eddie said, and Joe held up a hand.

"Just nod your head, Finch, and pretend you're not just barely more than a fetus," Joe said and turned to Eddie, motioning for him to explain himself.

"So Linda was on the basketball team right? She didn't play on the girl's team; she played with the guys because she was that good, and our team sucked, so we needed a ringer. Anyway, Linda was a really good looking woman, and 100% straight so she more or less had her pick of guys. We'd heard that she had bought this tiny little dress for prom, and we're looking forward to those long legs in something other than basketball shorts. Except when she showed up at prom, she didn't look right. The dress fit her perfectly, and she had an amazing body, and I thought maybe it was because she was so freaking buff and we were turned off because we were intimidated. But that wasn't it."

"It was because she was a tomboy and didn't know how to wear a dress," Joe said. "She didn't know how to move in it. She looked more feminine when she changed into shorts and flip-flops at the after-party than she did dressed up in the tiny red dress and heels."

"Exactly, and when you looked at pictures from prom afterward, she looked great."

"Because she wasn't moving. She could look the part, but she couldn't play it," Joe said.

"This guy is Linda Reese in a dress," Eddie said. "Look at the way he moves. The bat doesn't look natural in his hands, and he doesn't have the street punk swagger. If he's a hood, I'll eat my shoes."

"That and his ink is pretty distinctive, as are the scars. If he's been in the system, there will be a record of it somewhere. Finch, run the tattoos, and when you strike out there, bring a picture of the tattoo to parlors to see if anyone recognizes the work," Joe said. "Start with artists that specialize in tattooing scar tissue."

"There's a difference between tattooing regular tissue, and tattooing scar tissue?" Finch asked.

"Yup," Joe said.

"That's a lot of work for a vandalism case," Eddie said.

"Finch, get started on the tattoo," Joe said. "Eddie, let's take this into the Captain's office."

They walked into the office just off of the bullpen and closed the door.

"You really should be using this room you know," Eddie said.

"The Captain will be back in a couple of weeks," Joe said. "It's too much of a pain in the ass to move my stuff back and forth. It's easier to do the admin from my desk."

"You haven't checked your email this morning have you?" Eddie said.

"Nope," Joe said.

"There's a memo; he's staying out until the middle of August, at least."

"Awesome," Joe said.

"Do you know what's going on with him? Has he said anything to you?" Eddie asked.

"Nope," Joe said.

"He's never taken more than a few days holidays a year in his entire career. He's never taken a sick day, and now he's off for the summer? With no notice?"

"All I know is that when he told me to take some leave after Stephanie and I split, he said he needed me rested because his grandchildren were going to be spending a lot of time at his house this summer, and he was going to be taking time off."

"That's all?"

"That's all I've heard," Joe said. "Now would you like to know why I'm using police resources to track down an asshole vandal or do you want to keep gossiping?"

"No, fill me in," Eddie said. So Joe told him about Molly and Lucien, and Ranger's suspicions that Lucien wasn't acting on an entirely voluntary basis.

"That Maggie, is Margaret Rothes, complicates things. I want to look into this, but we're going to have to tread carefully. The rift between Molly and Maggie happened over a supposed theft that Molly had no part of. Now according to Molly, she and Lucien would have both had a lot of access to Maggie's place, and she's bound to have plenty of priceless objects in her apartment. It's a long shot, but Lucien may have been coerced into stealing whatever it was that went missing, setting Molly up to take the fall knowing that Maggie would never press charges."

"Maybe," Eddie said. "But it's a stretch."

"It is, but Maggie and Molly had a very public friendship; whoever is behind this could be someone looking to exploit that relationship."

"Or it could be completely unrelated to the Rothes, and Brasseau could just be in over his head with someone."

"I don't think it is," Joe said. "If it were that, then why not go to Maggie for money? She gave Molly a watch worth more than my car as a gift for starting up her business. If Brasseau were in financial trouble, Maggie would bail him out, to protect Molly. Making him break up with Molly, the public humiliation, the repeated trips to court, there has to be a point to it all. If your, 'Linda in a dress,' is part of this, and not someone with a grudge against me, or cops in general, then if we can find him, we may be able to find who's pulling Brasseau's strings, and maybe get him off of Molly's back."

"What do you want me to do? Chase down tattoos with Finch?" Eddie asked.

"No, I want you to go through the divorce proceedings, and the financial records leading up to the split."

"Okay," Eddie said. "In the meantime, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to look into Brasseau," Joe said.

There was a knock on the door, and Joe opened it. It was Finch. "There's a woman here for you?" Finch said.

"Are you sure?" Joe asked with a laugh.

"She's on crutches, and she's with this guy who looks like he kills people for fun. I'm not sure if I should be informing you, or warning you."

"Come on, I'll introduce you," Joe said.

Molly was waiting for him at the front desk. She wasn't wearing his t-shirt anymore and was dressed for work in a sundress, and light blazer that she rolled to the elbows.

"Hi," Joe said, "Molly Von G, Eddie Gazzera and Septimus Finch."

"Dude, with a name like that, you need to be in an Agatha Christie novel," Molly said, as she shook Finch's hand.

"With an accent like yours, you shouldn't be saying, 'dude.' It sounds all wrong," Finch said, genially.

"I'll be in the car," JigSaw said, handed Molly a thermos, and a to-go cup, and walked out.

"Nice guy," Eddie said.

"It's not his job to be nice," Molly said with a shrug.

"What are you doing here?" Joe asked.

"I have to go to work," Molly said. "Sort of."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"My landlord is there," Molly said. "I had some trouble with my furnace back in March, and he wants to do some maintenance on it before it starts getting cold again."

"It's July," Joe said.

"I know," Molly said. "Anyway, he might have to go into my apartment to check some things and would prefer it if I were there, so I don't accuse him later of rifling through my underwear drawer or something. I figured I'd pick up some stuff while I was there and work from your place this afternoon if you don't mind me taking over your dining room table?"

"Nope," Joe said. "Just don't operate any heavy machinery while you're taking the Vicodin."

"I won't even operate gardening sheers," Molly said, "I'll mostly be drawing and doing basic math."

"You could have texted me to tell me you were going out," Joe said. "You didn't have to go out of your way."

"Yeah, but if I tell you in person, I can do this," she said and handed him the cup and the thermos. "I'm not up on my criminal code; is this considered bribing a police officer or resisting arrest?"

"Bear my children," Joe said.

"Sure," she said, brightly. "But I have to go hang out with my landlord first."

"I'll see you tonight," Joe said.

"Bye," she said. She kissed him and hopped to the door. She was improving; her crutches only slipped twice.

"You're going to kill yourself," Joe said and rolled his eyes. He walked over to her, took her crutches in one hand, and put his other arm around her, to help her down the stairs to the parking lot.

"They must be adjusted wrong or something. It shouldn't be this difficult."

"You'll get better," Joe said. "Just don't go up to your apartment without JigSaw behind you in case you slip."

He put her in the car and went back inside. He took the coffee from Finch and went back to his desk. He sat down, took the lid off of the cup and took a sip. Yup, he was an addict.

"Is it spiked or something? Do you have a problem we need to know about?" Eddie asked.

"Get a cup," Joe said. Eddie grabbed one off of his desk, and Joe poured a mouthful of coffee from the thermos into the cup and handed it back to Eddie.

"Don't put anything in it, just drink."

"Jesus Christ. What does she do to it?"

"Dunno," Joe said. "Don't care either, so long as she keeps making it for me."

Eddie reached for the thermos, and Joe reached for his gun.

"No."

"That's not even funny," Eddie said.

"The coffee is mine. I'll share the dessert I brought for lunch."

"Is it any good?"

"Did you try the pie at Manoso's wedding?"

"Yeah," Eddie said, "That was good pie. Really, really, good pie."

"She made the pie, so what do you think?"

Eddie's eyes went wide. "Do you have a fucking death wish or something?"

"Why? Because my cholesterol is going to take a hit with all the butter I'm going to be eating? I think I'll take my chances."

"Because she's Lester Santos's sister. He's going to fucking kill you."

Joe grinned. "He can try, but in the meantime, I'm still not sharing my coffee."


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN: You get two chapters of this story this week. Partly because I forgot to post a chapter last week, and partly because this chapter is short. Enjoy!**_

Molly was making stir fry when Joe got home. She was still dressed for work, but the blazer was on the back of a chair at the table. Bob was nowhere to be seen, which was odd since there was food around. "Where's the dog?"

"The forecast calls for thunderstorms," Molly said, "Your mother said that she usually takes Bob for them, so she brought him home with her."

"She does," Joe said.

"Does Bob suffer from brontophobia?" Molly asked.

"Fear of thunderstorms?" Joe guessed.

"Yeah," Molly said. "I thought maybe she did it so he wouldn't be alone if you had to work late."

"Mom's the one who doesn't like storms."

"Really?" Molly asked.

"Yup," Joe said. "We used to like it when the forecast wasn't great when we were little. It meant dad would be home early and sober to look after mom until the weather cleared."

"That's actually kind of sweet," Molly said. "Why is she afraid of them? Just a general phobia? Or did something happen as a kid?"

"She doesn't like the idea of being alone if the power goes out, or if the phones go down and she can't call for help."

"Ah," Molly said. She put down the knife she was using to chop up a sweet onion and washed her hands in the sink before turning to face him. It took her a minute to accomplish, and she rolled her eyes at herself before she grinned and smiled at him.

"Hi," she said.

He responded by kissing her hello. "I thought I was picking up pizza."

"I was in the mood for this," she said and kissed him again.

"Bad day?" She did say she cooked to relax.

"My landlord tried to up my rent," Molly said. "He said the furnace repairs were costing more than he expected."

"You have a lease though right?"

"Yup, good for three years, utilities included. I told him he could bite me."

"How'd he take it?"

"He informed me that the only reason he agreed to the lease was that he was afraid I was going to cry if he said no."

"But he's not pursuing it?"

"Nope," she said. "How was your day?"

"Your ex is a dick," Joe said.

"You've been researching us," she said.

"Just going through the stuff Ranger has already dug up," Joe said. "I want to look into Maggie further."

"Good luck," Molly said. "You'll get buried under an avalanche of lawyers the second you run a background check. Why do you want to look into Maggie?"

"I'm wondering if maybe you're taking the fall for a theft because Lucien knew Maggie wouldn't press charges," Joe said.

"Maybe," Molly said. "But Lucien wouldn't have been allowed in Maggie's apartment after what happened at the rehearsal. She wanted him kicked out of the building."

"You lived in the same building as she did?" Joe asked. "Just how much were you worth?"

"Oh hush," Molly said, "We had an 800 square foot condo that we got a deal on because Maggie owned the building."

"How did she get involved in the business?"

"Maggie is big into arts and crafts, and she likes to take classes after work to help her unwind. I was always home by 5:30 and Lucien often worked until almost 9:00 and I complained that I was bored with being home alone, and needed a hobby. She invited me over to her place to take the classes with her. Twice a week Maggie would send a car to my office to pick me up, I'd go up to her place, we'd make dinner, drink wine and do scrapbooking classes, or whatever. Then she decided she wanted to make the floral arrangements for her next party. She got started, got busy with work, and I ended up making all of the arrangements. I loved it and ended up doing all of her parties after that.

After a particularly elaborate soirée, I told her that I wanted to get paid next time, and she said she'd been keeping a tab for me. Maggie didn't want to pay me in cash, she'd done the market research for me, found a location, and wanted to be my primary investor."

Molly grinned at a memory, "The first location was a deli that had gone out of business, and we were renovating it. I was standing in the store, interviewing suppliers when Maggie came in with a schedule and told me that she already had six events booked for me. The sign above the store still said, 'Jerry's Meat' and there was a faint smell of pickled onions in the air when I met with my first client. She was a bride who wanted the theme of her wedding to be, The Ugly Duckling because it was her favorite book growing up. I remember sitting on a wobbly chair, at a chipped Formica table, using a basket of leftover crayons Maggie found under the deli counter to do some preliminary sketches for our client."

"Is that when Maggie gave you your watch?"

"No," Molly said. "She gave it to me the night she told me I needed to be a florist for a living."

"May I see it?" Joe asked.

Molly took it off and handed it to him. He turned it over, and read the inscription on the back.

"Let me be the rainbow for a damned change. Love, M."

Molly grinned, "Maggie has an inspirational poster in her office. It's a Maya Angelou quote from Letter to My Daughter, that says, 'Be the rainbow to someone's cloud.' It's meant as a way to inspire you to be compassionate towards your fellow man. Maggie had it in her office to remind her not to be Scrooge, and to keep an open mind when people come to her looking to invest in their companies."

"And she called you the rainbow to her cloud."

"Whenever I did a favor for her, or we were drinking too much wine," Molly said.

Molly turned back to the stove and tossed the rest of the vegetables into the wok.

"Ranger saw something in some of the security footage," Joe said. "A man approached Lucien at the rehearsal, and we believe that he was telling Lucien what to say to you that night. Ranger thinks he's being coerced, and that he played nice earlier this year because he thought it was safe to get you back into his good graces."

Molly dumped some rice into the wok and mixed it in with the vegetables. She dropped a chunk of garlic butter into it and stirred, but she didn't say anything.

"On at least two occasions he's been spotted wearing an earpiece," Joe said.

"Do you know who the man at the wedding was?"

"No," Joe said. "He doesn't show on camera."

"And you don't think Lucien stole whatever he took from Maggie for himself; you think that he was told he had to take it."

"It's one theory."

"It's a bad one," Molly said.

"Why?"

"Because I would never have to steal from Maggie to get something from her. I could ask her for the Hope diamond to cut down for industrial usage, and she'd get it for me. If Lucien needed something of value, all he'd have to do is tell me, and I'd ask and get it."

"Even if it were something of important sentimental value?"

"I really do think so, yes. And that Maggie turned her back on me over an alleged theft still doesn't compute for me. It never has. I still can't come to terms with it, and I half expect for Maggie to just pop out of the woodwork and give me a blast of shit for not trying harder to speak with her."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because it hurts too much, Joe. Because as long as I've only heard it from a maid, I can believe that it's just some big mistake. But if I do get in touch with Maggie, and she rejects me, then it's real, and I'm a coward, and I'm not strong enough for that yet. I'm just not, and I may never be."

She turned the heat off on the stove and reached up to try and get a couple of bowls from the cupboard, and one of her crutches fell. "Fuck!"

Joe walked up behind her and put his arm around her waist, "I'm sorry I brought it up," he said.

"It's… been a long day."

"And you're scared," Joe said.

"I am," Molly said. "I'm really scared, and I can't think about Maggie right now. I just can't."

"It doesn't change anything," Joe said. "Whether it's Lucien, or it's someone else, Bob and I are going to keep you safe."

"Well Bob can't, he is busy protecting your mom right now," Molly said.

"What about you? Do you have phobias I should know about, that can be cured by the company of a big orange dog?"

"I'm afraid of the dark," Molly said. "And I really wish your back door had vertical blinds or something."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"Because I'm afraid of coming down here in the middle of the night and seeing someone standing there, staring in. Also, it's good protection against zombies."

"How do you figure?"

"If they can't see us, they won't try to get into the house," Molly said. "And I really don't want to be a zombie. I'm not intimidated by all of the walking; I mean I'm on my feet all of the time, and I'm cool with it. It's the diet. I've tried sheep's brains before, and I couldn't handle it. Human brains would probably be the same texture, and I'm not into it."

"Should I start taking you to sword fighting or ax battling lessons too?"

"No," Molly said. "I'm good, I took fencing as part of gym class."

"Turn around, Molly," Joe said.

"It's easier said than done," she said with a sniff.

"I'll help you," he said. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

She half turned, and did what he said while he helped her keep her balance, and completed the rotation. "I told Ranger today that you wouldn't go back to Lucien if it turned out that he is doing all of this because he has to, to defend you. I really need for that to be true, but if I'm wrong, I need to know that now before I get in any deeper. You can still stay at my house, hell you can still stay in my bed, I just want to be on the same page, Molly."

"Even if I hadn't met you, I couldn't," Molly said, "I would be able to forgive him for what he's done, but I'd never forget it. I'd always be afraid that he was still just fucking with my head, hoping to get me to the altar just so he could jilt me all over again."

"That's what I thought," he said and kissed her forehead.

"I want a normal relationship, Joe."

"I can't give you a normal relationship. I'm a cop, and I work a lot of nights. Weird shit comes my way a lot more often than I'm comfortable, and you have a stalker."

She put her arms around his waist and squeezed, "Okay but after the stalker shit has been taken care of, could we aim for stable?"

"Sure," he said.

"Can we talk about something else now? Please?"

"Do you want me to keep you updated with what I turn up?"

"Only if I need to know, Joe. I want your help, but I don't want it to be the only thing our relationship is about."

"It won't be," he said. "Why don't you go sit down, and I'll bring dinner over. We'll talk about our plans for this weekend."

"That's way better than talking about my ex," Molly said.

He handed her her crutches, and she went towards the living room.

"I thought we were eating at the table?" Joe said.

"The game starts in ten minutes," Molly said. "It's going to take me that long just to get to the sofa."

She shuffled out of the room, and he looked at his watch. Four days. He'd known her for four days. That was all. He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. There had been five women since Stephanie. And none of them made it past a couple of dates because he was looking for that same thrill of excitement, that same frustration he felt with Stephanie that went with that relationship. The spark that had them at each other's throats one minute, and in bed the next. He wanted that with them. With Molly, that wasn't there, and he didn't want it.

He wanted the smile back. He wanted what he saw at the station that morning, the mischievous glint in Molly's eyes when she'd brought him the coffee.

He served dinner, taking a bite of the chicken that had gone with the rice and vegetables, and groaned. Before he did anything else, he set a portion aside for his lunch the next day, and then carried the bowls out to the living room, where she was sitting with her foot on the table, and the pregame show on the tv. He handed her a bean bag lap desk, that he kept beside the sofa, and then gave her her dinner.

"So this weekend," he said. "I thought we'd stay in a hotel in New York."

"Does it have room service?" She asked.

"Yep," Joe said.

"Excellent," she said. "I take it you want to stay in the City because you want to drink at the game?"

"That and someone told me about something I think we should check out after the game."

"What sort of thing?" Molly asked.

"That's a surprise," Joe said.

"What kind of surprise?"

"The kind that's a secret," Joe said.

"I bet I could get it out of you," Molly said.

"I have three younger siblings, and five hundred nieces and nephews who are all way more annoying than you could ever be and they've never been able to get a secret out of me."

"Wanna bet?" Molly asked. "Ask Lester, I can be a really annoying little sister."

"Sure, but I know how to distract you," Joe said.

"How?" Molly asked.

"Well for starters, I think we should augment your history with this sofa," Joe said.

"Interesting," Molly said. "In what way?"

"The kind of way that will require a lot of self-control on my part, take the entire length of the ballgame and be exceptionally frustrating for you because it will only occur during pitching changes and commercial breaks."

"Color me distracted," Molly said, with a grin. "Where are our seats for the game?"

"Not telling," Joe said.

"I thought we were going to discuss this weekend?"

"We were, but now I'm more interested in you trying to get the secrets out of me," Joe said.

"I bet I can make you lose control," Molly said. "If I do, you have to tell me where our seats are."

"Oh you're on, Sweetheart," Joe said.


	9. Chapter 9

**_AN: And here is another chapter as promised!_**

When Joe initially invited Molly to the game his intentions had been almost noble. For one, she'd never been to a game, and that was a crime considering how much she liked baseball. For another, it was a way to get her to see that he wasn't going anywhere for a while. Over the handful of days she'd been staying at his house he learned that despite her failure to make it to a live game, she was no casual fan of the sport.

She played little league before she moved to Europe. She almost never missed a Mets game and listened to them on the radio when she couldn't watch them on television. She, Lester, and their dad shared an extensive card collection, curated by Javi Santos. She knew the stats on most of the baseball cards and was a ruthless member of a fantasy baseball league. Her brother was her backer on the condition that he had veto power during trade season and that they split the winnings. Baseball was a serious thing for Molly, and any thoughts that years living abroad may have ironed out her New Jersey upbringing were obliterated by her behavior at the ballpark. Her accent just made her sound posher than the average vocal fan.

"No," she said, "He doesn't suck. The man has 330 plus home runs to his name, over 900 RBIs, and he's a brilliant right fielder. He's never sucked, he's just not playing as well as he did ten years ago."

"That's my point," the man next to them said, "He needs to retire. He's out of shape, and he showboats to try to hide the fact that he can't hit the broadside of a barn anymore. What the hell is wrong with throwing the ball to the cut off man? Huh?"

"Oh come off it! He threw a bullet from right field all the way to Home," Molly said, "The ball took a weird hop off of a rut in the dirt. That's not his fault. If Mesoraco had been able to catch it, you would have been screaming your head off at the brilliant play, and the strength of his arm. Your real problem with him has nothing to do with his stats and everything to do with his arrogance and the fact that he plays better when he's pissed off. You watch, next at-bat he's going to crank it out of the park."

The man next to them had started heckling during the second inning, and it began to drive Molly bananas. Her response had been to critique his heckling. At first, it was just correcting his grammar, but when she started spouting off statistics, he'd stopped heckling to argue with her. Literally, none of that mattered to Joe. He'd made a discovery two innings ago, and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Molly had chosen to dress like a cliche for the ball game. She had her hair in a pair of pigtails that she had tucked under a Mets hat (signed by Darryl fucking Strawberry), and she was wearing a girl cut jersey, knotted at the waist and unbuttoned enough that if she leaned forward he could make out the black and silver bra from the night they'd met. She'd paired it with a short, navy blue tennis skirt, with a little ruffle at the bottom. She had one knee sock on, and a single tennis shoe, owing to her cast, and that was the sum total of her clothing. He made this discovery when they stood to let a couple get to their seats, and Joe put his hand on Molly's ass and noted a distinct lack of panty line.

When he'd asked her if she was wearing a thong, she'd shaken her head, and went back to watching the game. She looked adorable and sexy, and she wasn't wearing underwear. And that's pretty much all he could think about.

He flagged a guy selling beer and got two, and handed one to Molly, who'd promptly re-enacted a beer commercial with it, by holding the perspiring can up against the pulse in her throat for a few seconds. That was Joe's breaking point. He picked her up and dragged her into his lap. She beamed at him and put her arms around his neck.

"Hi," she said.

"I'm going to need you to ignore him now," Joe said. "You're missing a good game."

"Quick," she said, covering his eyes. "Who's winning?"

"Your skirt," he said.

"I thought as much," she said. She leaned in and whispered in Joe's ear, "Tell me what we're doing after this, and I'll let you take me into the men's room."

"No deal," he said. "I've spent the last two innings coming up with plans for that little skirt. Plans that involve you expressing your gratitude for the surprise I've concocted after this."

"Are we going to the locker room to meet the team?" She asked.

"Absolutely not," he said. "Under no circumstances do my plans involve exposing you to half-naked, and naked professional athletes."

She giggled, "Okay, what then? Give me a hint."

"Well there won't be dancing," he said. Molly slapped him on the chest, and he chuckled. "We're following up on a tip I was given. I didn't confirm this with anyone so it might not pan out."

"Let me be clear on something, Detective. For the entirety of this game I have been thinking about going back to our hotel after this, ordering room service, and watching the highlights of this game on ESPN while you do whatever it is that this skirt has inspired you to do."

"It's still too soon to propose marriage right?" He said.

"Yes," She laughed. "My point is, that anything else you have planned for this evening is just a bonus."

A line drive foul ball came off of the bat, and she ducked, as it hit the netting behind home plate.

"Jesus," she said. It had looked like it was coming right at them.

Joe handed her the glove she'd brought.

"That's what this is for, Sweetheart."

"Oh is it?" She asked, and batted her eyes at him. "I thought it was a hat, or perhaps some strange contraption for protecting my knees from the sun."

"It's called a glove, or a mitt," he said. "You put it on your hand and catch the baseball that comes flying towards you. I mean it's pointless here because there's a net protecting us, but…"

"I brought it because you refused to tell me where we were sitting! What if we were on the third base line? Huh? Then what? I'd need it."

"Not if you duck for cover when the ball comes towards you," he said with a laugh. "You're sure you played little league?"

"Oh shut up," she said. She kissed him and went back to her seat to drink her beer. He put a possessive hand on her knee, and when she shifted, and his hand went up her skirt a little, he had to spend the seventh inning stretch seated because he had a noticeable problem.

When the game finished, they waited for the crowds to thin before she struggled up the steps on her crutches, and then groaned when they got to the top and discovered that the line to the ladies room was enormous.

"Go get me a souvenir would you?" She asked.

"I thought I'd wait with you," Joe said. "Given Lucien's propensity to stir shit up while you're in the Restroom."

"He'll bug you, he won't bug me. I'll be fine. Besides, those stores are packed, and I can barely navigate these stupid crutches in wide open spaces. How am I supposed to go into a crammed shop?"

"I'll give you a piggy back," Joe said.

"Joe, I've been freaked out that Lucien is going to do something since last Sunday, and look at me now, I'm relaxed."

"I'd noticed that," Joe said.

"That's because in the past he's never approached a date at a ticketed outing. He waits until dinner," Molly said.

"Which is why you're trying to tempt me back to the hotel room," Joe said.

"No," Molly said, "I'm trying to tempt you back to the hotel because I'm horny."

"Fine," Joe said, "But if I'm not here when you're finished it's because I'm still in line. I'm not leaving you, Molly. I know what Lucien's up to, and there's nothing he can say that'll make me take off."

"I know," Molly said. He kissed her and waited with her until she went inside the bathroom, then went to the nearest souvenir store. He, found a rack of personalized novelty Met's jersey keychains, spun it, found Molly's name and went to stand in the long line for the cash. The progression towards the front of the line was glacial, so he sent Molly a text to let her know he was going to be a while, and told her to wait. He got a read receipt and then nearly dropped his phone when his mother called while he was waiting for Molly to text back.

There was a woman in front of him in line, who'd been giving him the once over, and then flashed him a smile, when the phone rang.

"I hate it when that happens," she said.

"My girlfriend has me hooked on this coffee she makes," Joe said. "I've been drinking a lot of it lately."

"Maybe you should cut back," the woman said.

"Not a chance," he said with a grin and answered his phone.

"Hi mom," Joe said.

"Hello, dear," she said. "I'm sorry to disturb your date, but I think something is wrong with, Bob. He's not himself, and his stomach is quite upset."

"Did grandma give him another laxative?" Joe asked.

"No," his mother said. "I came to pick him up and thought I'd help with the laundry while he was doing his business outside, and when I came downstairs he was trembling, and he's vomited several times."

"Shit," Joe said. "He's probably eaten another toad. Is he foaming at the mouth?"

"Yes," she said. "And he's looking pretty pathetic in general."

"Take him out back and rinse his mouth with the hose. Go in from the side and don't aim down his throat, I'll let the vet know you're on your way," Joe said. "Damn. We're going to be a while. The game just let out, and I've been drinking."

"Don't come home until I know if it's serious or not," she said. "Bob gets into things he shouldn't all of the time, and he's fine. I'd hate for you to waste your weekend over nothing."

"Thanks," Joe said. He hung up the phone, and he called the vet to let him know that Bob was coming and what they thought was going on. The vet assured him that there were no toads in New Jersey that could kill the dog, just make things unpleasant for him for a bit. He said he'd call when he had a diagnosis. When Joe finished, he paid for Molly's keepsake, and he went back out to look for her. She was nowhere to be seen, and he checked his watch. Surely fifteen minutes was a long time to be in the bathroom, wasn't it?

He was watching the door when a woman he recognized as being in line behind Molly, came out again. He jogged over to her and smiled, "Hey, my girlfriend went into the bathroom before you did. She's on crutches, and she's terrible with them. I don't suppose she's still in there?"

"I remember you," she said, "You kept telling her that you'd take her into the family washroom to help her, and she told you that you weren't that intimate yet. She left the bathroom a couple of minutes ago."

"I don't suppose you saw which way she went? She's almost fallen twice today, and I'm worried she's hurt herself."

She shook her head and waved a man and two children over. "This is my husband, Tim. Tim, did you see a woman on crutches come out here? Really cute, hair in pigtails," the woman asked.

"Yeah, she put her crutches up against the wall while she was texting someone, and some asshole stole them from her. Just walked up and took them, and got lost in the crowd. I mean who the hell does that?"

"And then someone bumped her, and she broke her phone," One of the kids said.

"Yeah," Tim said, "But at least he stopped to help her. He called security, and they came to pick her up in a wheelchair."

"You're sure it was security?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," he said. "They were wearing uniforms."

"Thanks," Joe said. "She was okay though?"

"Well she was upset, and she was crying when the guy left with one of the guards."

"They didn't go with her? Did she ask them to look for me, maybe?" Joe asked.

"Dunno what he said," Tim said. "He was speaking French."

Joe pulled his badge out of his pocket and showed it to the family.

"Don't go anywhere," he said. "She may not have left voluntarily."

"She was with security," Tim said.

"That man wasn't stopping to help her," Joe said, "He was her stalker. I need to make sure he was actually leaving with Security."

"Oh my God," the woman said.

Joe punched Ranger's number into his cell, "Yo."

"I need Molly's location," Joe said. "We got separated, and Brasseau approached her."

"Her trackers are dated, I can tell you she's in the stadium, but unless I'm in the building, I can't tell you where. Standby."

"Go to that hot dog vendor over there and tell them there's been a possible abduction and you need Security. Make sure he recognizes the guard that comes to help," Joe said to Tim. Tim nodded vigorously and jogged to the nearby vendor who was closing down his cash. Joe watched the guy at the cash pick up a phone when Ranger came back on the line."

"JigSaw is in the lot; he wasn't enthusiastic about her going to New York without back up. He'll be at your position in five," Ranger said.

Joe disconnected as he watched a guard jog to the hot dog stand, and start talking to the vendor. The kid obviously recognized the guard, so Joe ran to him.

"My girlfriend was supposedly picked up by two security guards and taken somewhere after her crutches were stolen. Where would that have been?"

"Where were the crutches stollen?" The guard asked.

"Right over there, about ten minutes ago," Tim said and pointed to the wall next to the ladies room.

"There's no way we would have taken her away that quickly; not if she was here with someone she was waiting for," the guard said. He made a call on his radio and checked the office, to see if there had been a report filed. JigSaw got to them just as the guard was getting told that nobody had called in about stolen crutches.

"She's about two hundred feet that way," Jigsaw said. "But I can't tell you which level."

Joe took off at a run and didn't see her, JigSaw was on his phone when he caught up to Joe.

"She's upstairs," JigSaw said.

Joe followed him to a flight of stairs and jogged up. Molly was sitting on a bench with a group of teenagers, holding a borrowed cell phone. She was pale, and clearly shaken, but not crying. Joe ran to her and crouched down in front of her. He took both of her hands in his and kissed them.

"Fuck I thought he took you," he said.

"No," she said. "He was here, but it wasn't him."

"Why didn't you wait for me downstairs?" Joe asked.

"I wanted to. Someone stole my crutches, and I was going to text you to tell you, and then Lucien showed up and knocked my phone out of my hand. He picked it up, and then he dropped it into a soda he was holding. I'm so sorry Joe. You were right, and I was being stupid. I just… he hates sports, and I really didn't think he'd come here. I thought since he hasn't tried anything yet, that maybe he wasn't going to and maybe he was leaving us alone because you're a cop."

"Don't worry about that now," Joe said. "Just tell me what happened. Did he approach you before or after I texted you to tell you that the line was taking forever?"

"You texted me?" Molly asked.

Joe showed her his phone, and the time of the last text.

"It must have been before," Molly said, "I didn't see that."

"Okay," Joe said, "But I got a read receipt."

"I didn't see it," Molly said, "Maybe the text came in when I dropped the phone?"

"Yeah maybe," Joe said. Or the timing was a little too perfect, and Lucien was intercepting her text messages somehow and knew that it would be an opportune time to approach her. "What did he say after he destroyed your phone?"

"He asked me what it was going to take for me to learn that I'm not allowed to let other men touch me. I told him to fuck off, and he said that it wasn't a nice way to speak to the guy who was the only way I was getting home tonight."

"Why wouldn't you be going back with me?"

"Because you left," she said, "He said he did his homework, and he figured out your buttons just like he did all of the others. He said that was the beautiful thing about knowing someone as well as he knows me. He knows just the sorts of things to say, that I can't refute, that would drive you away.

I told him that you weren't like the other guys, and that Ric was involved now too, and that Ric said that if I laid eyes on Lucien I was to hit my panic button, and everything would be broadcast throughout all of Rangeman. Every car, every computer speaker, every phone. There would be hundreds of witnesses to his harassment, and I could go for a federal restraining order."

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me it would be a huge mistake, and that if I knew what was good for me, I wouldn't touch the button. I went to get it out of my pocket, and he grabbed my wrist, and that's when these two security guards showed up. They had a wheelchair, and they told me they saw my crutches getting stolen on their security monitors. I told them that Lucien was bothering me, and one of them said he'd take care of it and escorted Lucien away."

"And the other guy brought you up here," Joe said.

"I told him I wanted to wait for you, and that you'd probably only be a couple of minutes, but he said that he wanted to move me in case Lucien gave his partner the slip or something. He asked for your name, and he radioed someone else, to come and wait for you to tell you where we were."

"And he didn't wait with you up here?" Joe asked her and looked around for the wheelchair.

"No dude, he dumped her out of the fucking chair," one of the kids said. "We saw everything. He just walked over to the top of the stands, and he tipped her out like she was in a wheelbarrow or something. She bailed down the stairs."

"Are you hurt?" Joe asked Molly. "Did you hit your head?"

"No," she said, "I banged my elbow really hard, and I scraped my back, but on the bright side, I didn't flash these guys."

"Well me, a little bit," one of the girls said, "But I didn't let these other idiots see anything. I wanted to call 911, but she wanted to call you first because you're a cop."

"Call them now," Joe said.

She nodded and took her phone back from Molly. JigSaw made a phone call of his own, while Joe took Molly to the bleachers, away from the crowd so he could inspect her back and elbow. Her elbow was bleeding a little, and the scrapes on her back went below the waistband of her skirt. "How's your ass?"

"The same as my back," Molly said.

"Your knees don't look great either," Joe said. "Did you roll?"

"Yeah," she said. "Not far though. Those kids were coming up the stairs when he tipped me out, and they broke my fall."

"This is a major escalation Molly," Joe said.

"He's angry, Joe. Really fucking angry. The last thing he said before he left with the other guard was that I belonged to him and that just because he didn't want me anymore, didn't mean anyone else was allowed to have me."

"There has to be a reason he's doing this, Molly. This isn't normal stalker behavior. Leading up to the wedding, did anything out of the ordinary happen? Anything at all? It doesn't have to be related to Lucien. It could be anything."

"A regular client stopped coming around, and I thought maybe he'd died," Molly said. "But that's it. I told you. Everything was normal. Lucien didn't seem stressed or upset by anything."

"Why did you think your client died?"

"He was always skinny, but he was skeletal the last time he came in, and the last time he was there, he was wearing makeup to hide how pale he was. I didn't see him until I went back to work after Lucien left me before I had to sell the store. He looked a little better, and he told me that his weight always fluctuated when his art wasn't going well. Starvation was always a good way to inspire his muse when she was acting stubborn. He was really sweet about Lucien, and he told me I was better off without him. I told him I was selling the store, and he told me I'd always have a loyal customer in him."

"Have you seen him since you changed venues?"

"I haven't seen anyone," she said, "Lucien did an outstanding job of destroying my reputation."

"Molly, I know it's only been a week, but honestly I find it difficult to believe that you've got any skeletons that bad…"

"I fucked my step-aunt's boyfriend at a family function and made sure we got caught," she said. "I repeatedly stole money from my stepmother, and let me see, oh yeah, I ran away from home multiple times until my father put me in in-patient grief counseling for two months to get my head screwed on straight."

"How did you make sure you were caught?"

"I lifted his phone from his pocket, and called my stepmother," Molly said. "He thought he butt dialed her."

"That's something you left out of your sob story the night we met," he said. "Why did you want to get caught?"

"Because I figured it was the best way to hurt my stepmother that night," she said. "She's close to her sister, her sister is about my age, and she thought that by making us hang out, I'd learn to fit in better."

"And you wanted to hurt your stepmother because?"

"I was in pain, and I wanted to blame someone. I chose her because she wouldn't uproot her entire life for me to live in New Jersey. She had a career, a family, friends, and my half brothers were in an exclusive day school that she didn't want to pull them out of. Plus the colonel was stationed in Europe, and if he transferred stateside, he'd end up in DC. The only way I was going to stay in New Jersey was if he retired, and at that time, there really was no question of that happening. But I chose to focus my blame on her. I mean she was already predisposed to not liking me because of mom anyway."

"Are you two good now?"

"As good as we can be," Molly said. "My therapist explained to her that I wasn't really responsible for my actions and that when I was in control again, part of my recovery was going to be accepting the consequences for what I'd done."

"You were a teenager who just lost everything," Joe said. "I think you have a decent excuse for being angry."

"The thing Lucien would probably tell you is that the in-patient thing was at a place that's primarily known as a juvenile corrections facility. I wasn't in that part of the campus; I was in a part that specialized in helping teens cope with psychological trauma, and the only time I interacted with the kids from the corrections side of things, was during group."

"Was it a scared straight program?" Joe asked.

"No," Molly said. "Juvi is different there, and there's a heavy focus on counseling. Anyway, that's probably what Lucien thinks would make you leave me."

"Because you were an angry, rebellious teenager who got help?"

"Well he'd put a different spin on it," Molly said. "He'd make me out to sound like Ric because there's no secret about the bad blood between you."

"Meh," Joe said, "Outside of my relationship with Stephanie, the only real problem I have with Ranger is that he kills people. Do you kill people?"

"I haven't yet," Molly said.

"Then we're fine," Joe said.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he fished it out. It was his mom calling. "I have to take this, Bob is sick."

"Oh no," Molly said. "What happened?"

"He ate a toad. It's not his first time," Joe said. "I'm going to take this, we're going to deal with the police, and then I'm going to figure out a better solution for you than those crutches."

"Then can we go back to the hotel room? I know you have big plans, but…"

"Yeah," he said. He gave her a brief kiss and answered the phone. He was staying calm for her. She was scared, and she didn't need to know what happened the last time a man terrorized a woman he cared about.

 _AN: I feel I should mention that I have never been to Citi Field and that any research I have done into the stadium is minimal. I'm basing the layout of the place on my knowledge of other ballparks and what I was able to figure out after a particularly frustrating battle with Google. So just pretend that I know what I'm talking about._


	10. Chapter 10

**_AN: Since most of you are reading Saturday, what I'm about to say is old news. For those that aren't, here's a little update about what's going to happen with this story. I have been diagnosed with tendonitis in my left hand and I am in a splint for at least two weeks. I have two chapters (maybe three) of this story that are in the editing phase so I should be able to post them while I have the splint on, but I'm not supposed to type with my left hand while the splint is on which means that I'm going to have to take a little break. I promise that I'm not abandoning this story. It's actually more or less finished and I am just filling in plot holes at this point, so as soon as the splint is off, I'll be able to post chapters fairly quickly. Thanks for reading and I promise I'll be back soon!_**

Joe planned to take Molly to a bar that he'd heard was frequented by ballplayers after a win. Instead, after the police arrived and saw Molly's injuries, she was taken to a hospital to have them documented, and to have her foot looked at to make sure the fall hadn't aggravated the injury. When it got back to the team, what had happened, they sent a gift to her at the hospital. It looked like a large children's scooter, with three wheels, and a seat to kneel on. It was dark blue and signed by the team and came with two tickets to another game. She was delighted with it, and after someone from the hospital helped her adjust it, it took her about two seconds to master it.

The only thing they weren't sure of yet, was how Bob would respond to it. He had a thing for chasing skateboards, and they were worried he'd object to Molly's new wheels. The reason they didn't know how he'd respond was that Bob had spent several days at the Vet, under observation.

They had been to see him every day, and each day he was a little less subdued, but he was still definitely not himself. They had ruled out toad poisoning and were running tests on common poisons to try to determine what it was that he had consumed so they could target his therapy better. Joe dropped Molly off at work on Thursday morning, before he went to work and stopped in at the Animal Hospital to check on Bob.

He was taken back to see his dog immediately, and when Bob saw him, the dog lifted his head and wagged his tail excitedly. He didn't get up, but it was the most active Joe had seen him.

"Hi Buddy," Joe said. "You're looking good today!"

Bob licked Joe's hands, and Joe scratched Bob's ears for him since the dog was wearing the cone of shame, to keep him from licking at his IV.

"He's going to be fine," the vet said when he walked in. "You can take him home today if he's not going to be alone."

"This is a huge improvement," Joe said. "I take it you figured out what he got into?"

"Yep," he said. "It was plant-based. Pelargonium, otherwise known as geraniums. It lowered his heart rate and blood pressure, and it's going to leave him a little depressed for a while. He's going to need a lot of affection."

"He ate a geranium, and it did this to him?"

"Yes," he said, "There are a lot of common garden flowers that are actually quite harmful to dogs. I'm going to give you a list and considering Bob's eating habits, I'd suggest that if you have any of these in your garden, that you remove them."

"The only plant I have in my garden is a hydrangea my mother planted, and Bob uses as a urinal. It's been dead for a while."

"The test was definitive," the vet said. "I don't know what else to tell you. Is it possible he came in contact with the flowers some other way? Maybe in a flower arrangement?"

"My girlfriend is a florist; it's possible it was in one of the arrangements she's been leaving in the dining room, but my mother didn't say anything about him getting into them, and Molly would notice if they'd been tipped over and mom put them back."

"It doesn't hurt to ask," the vet said.

Joe called her.

"How's my favorite wookie?" Molly asked when she answered.

"Were there geraniums in the arrangement you put on the table Friday?" Joe asked.

"God no! Not with the way Bob eats," Molly said, "They'd make him sick. None of the flowers in that arrangement would hurt him."

"Apparently he's eaten some."

"Oh, the poor thing! He's probably miserable! I'm absolutely positive I didn't put them in the arrangement. Your neighbor has some in her front garden though; maybe he got into those?"

"That must be it," Joe said. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said. "Oh, poor baby! Ask the vet what would be best for him to eat, and I'll make it for him tonight."

"What about me?" Joe asked. "What do I get for dinner?"

"Me," Molly said.

He chuckled and disconnected. "My neighbor apparently has geraniums in her front garden," Joe said.

"Mystery solved then," the vet said. Joe got a copy of the toxicology report and clipped Bob's leash to him. "He shouldn't be alone for the next couple of days until he perks up."

"My girlfriend wants to cook for him," Joe said.

"Boiled chicken and rice. Nothing hard on his stomach."

Joe got a list of instructions for tending to the dog for the next few days and drove Bob out to Molly's shop. Ten minutes later, Molly had him installed on an air mattress in her office, with a pile of pillows and blankets, and when Joe left them, she was on the floor beside the mattress absolutely spoiling Bob. When Joe got to the station, Eddie walked to his desk and dropped the Molly file on his desk.

"Molly's dealt with three judges over the last few years, " Eddie said. "Judge number one, Judge Gary Clark. Worked about a million cases, no complaints against him. I pulled transcripts from previous trials, and he comes across as exceptionally fair, and if anything, more likely to side with the woman in the divorce. During Molly's proceedings he lectured her about being careless with her personal finances, basically told her it was her fault Lucien was able to take the money from her and was all in all a prick to her. Everything she asked for, every challenge her lawyer put forth, was rejected.

Judge number two, Lee Weston. Same kind of record as Clark. Family man, whose daughter was going through a nasty divorce at the same time Brasseau was dragging Molly back to court for violation of the Do Not Compete."

"The one that says she's not allowed to sell flowers in New York," Joe said.

"Sell, or advertise."

"How did she violate it?"

"She put her name in the bio on her store website. The advertising thing was limited to print media only. The Do Not Compete was very specific on that point. Weston told her that it was a major oversite on Brasseau's attorney's part and retroactively added it to the original document. He said it was in the interest of fairness. It put her in violation of the Do Not Compete and she had to pay a massive penalty. She told him she couldn't afford it. He told her to get another job, and did her the favor of letting her make monthly payments."

"And?"

"She does home inspections and renovation consultations."

"What kind of consultations?" Joe asked.

"Did you know she was an architectural engineer?"

"I did," Joe said.

"She makes sure a home is structurally sound, or that a renovation can occur without the house coming down. The company is registered under her middle and last names, and her photo appears nowhere on her website because she operates out of her flower shop. She's covering her ass."

"How is she doing?"

"If she didn't have Brasseau as a drain on her finances she'd be doing really well."

Joe shook his head in disgust. This wasn't improving his mood in the slightest, and a niggling suspicion that had been in the back of his mind for days was becoming more persistent.

"Judge three?" Joe asked.

"Morris Fielding tried to help Molly," Eddie said. "She brought Lucien to court because she couldn't afford to live and every time the business started doing well, Brasseau would drag her back to increase his support payments. She managed to get a new judge who looked at what she was paying, Lucien's personal wealth, assets, etc., and the original settlement. He put a stop to it all, and told Brasseau that he was going to be the one making payments from now on and that he owed her half of the value of their Condo."

"How much was that?"

"She bought it for half a million, but the condo was appraised at about $2 million," Eddie said. "When Brasseau said he didn't have that kind of cash, Fielding told him to put it on the market."

"He didn't though," Joe said.

"A week before the first payment was due, Fielding dropped dead of heart failure, and Brasseau took Molly back before Judge Clark, and things went back to normal."

"They are sure it was a heart attack?"

"Yup," Eddie said. "but according to his wife, who I spoke to not two hours ago, a man came to the house the same day Fielding had his coronary. She said he was French, attractive, and blonde. He told Fielding that Fielding had made a mistake with his verdict and that he was doing more harm than good. He said, and I'm quoting Mrs. Fielding here, 'She is better off bankrupt and alone. She's vulnerable and letting her cousin protect her, but the minute she gets her head above water, that'll change.' After that, she said they went into Fielding's office, and she didn't hear anything more. When the man left, Fielding said he was going to meet up with a friend for lunch, and he dropped dead of his heart attack while waiting to be seated at a restaurant."

"Do we know who the friend was?"

"Marge Quillerston," Eddie said this name like it meant something, but it didn't ring any bells for Joe. "She is a former FBI unit chief."

"Did you call her?"

"I did, and she told me that Fielding said that he wanted her to look into a potential blackmail case he'd come across. He was going to give her a case file at lunch, but he died, and when they went through his briefcase afterward the only thing in it was an art magazine."

"What magazine?" Joe asked.

"Quillerston couldn't remember," Eddie said. "But she was fairly certain the magazine was new."

"Okay, so what I want you to do is look up any art magazines that would have been in publication around then, and see if there's anything mentioning Molly in any of them. He may have brought it as a means of identifying Molly without drawing attention to her case file. Or maybe there's something significant in the magazine."

"I thought that too, and I've already checked. I sent her the magazine covers, and she identified one. There's absolutely no mention of Molly in the magazine. The magazine's featured article is about an Art Critic, and I've read through the magazine, but I'm starting to think it is irrelevant and whatever was in the briefcase that was important was stolen."

"Give me the magazine," Joe said. "Maybe I'll see something Molly has mentioned."

"I'll email you the link," Eddie said.

His phone rang on his desk, the man on the other end was a man named Ron Simpread. Simpread was a Detective with NYPD and had worked more than one undercover case with Morelli. Morelli had specifically asked for his help with Molly, knowing he could be trusted.

"What's up?" Joe asked.

"So I get the footage from the ballpark, and I'm going through it. I see your asshole Brasseau talk to three dudes. Idiot number one is a career recidivist, and he's responsible for taking your girl's crutches. Idiots two and three, I got nothing on them, didn't get their faces on any cameras. I can follow them from their conversation with Brasseau to when they pick her up in the chair and to when they meet up with Brasseau after their confrontation. He gives them money, and they all leave together on the subway. I could probably trace them back to wherever they went from there, but that's going to take time."

"And now you have Brasseau in custody?"

"I don't," Simpread said, "I went to the judge to get a warrant so I could pick this asshole up, and press charges, and what do I get told? Insufficient evidence. We don't know what Brasseau said to the guys in the lot, for all we know he might have been telling them to lay off of your girlfriend."

"Did you pick up the idiot who stole her crutches?"

"I tried," Simpread said. "Except he seems to have disappeared, and I'm pretty sure we're not going to find him unless we dredge the East River."

"What makes you think that?"

"Witnesses saw him being stuffed into the trunk of a Buick."

"And that wasn't enough to get you a fucking warrant?"

"Given the lifestyle he leads, Brasseau is the least likely candidate to off him. We're looking, but like I said, I'm not hopeful that we're going to find this guy."

"Can you send me his file?"

"In your inbox as we speak. Hang on," Simpread said. Joe heard hold music and opened his email to find the details about the guy who stole Molly's crutches. His name was Curtis Lewiston. He was into a little of everything, a junkie, and a general fuck up. "Okay, something is definitely up."

"What?" Joe asked.

"The brass have just told my Captain that I'm to lay off of this shit. I've shown him everything you've shown me about your girl, and he told me that I'm to keep pursuing this, but from the angle of Lewiston and I'm to do it on the DL. I'll keep you apprised." Joe heard a voice in the background, it was muffled, and he couldn't make out what was being said. "Gotta run."

He filled Eddie in and looked at Bob's toxicology results.

"What's that?" Eddie asked.

"Bob ate geraniums," Joe said. "Turns out they are bad for dogs. He's been at the vet's since Saturday, and I just sprang him this morning."

"Where's he now?"

"Getting spoiled by Molly," Joe said. He put the pages down, "I'll be back; I have to check something. Keep the investigation into Brasseau to yourself."

He left the station and drove home. Mrs. Kusak was conveniently in her garden when he got there, and he walked over to her.

"This about my car?" She asked.

"We're probably not going to catch the idiot who tagged your car," Joe said. "We have his tattoos in the system, so if he gets picked up for something else, we'll bust him them, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

She went to get to her feet, and Joe helped her up. She brushed plant debris from her jeans and looked at him. "You didn't come over here to tell me you had nothing."

"No," he said. "I came to apologize for Bob."

"Why?"

"He got into some geraniums, and Molly said that you had some in your garden. Can I replace the ones he ate?"

"He didn't get into mine," she said. They are all fine."

"Could you do me a favor?" Joe asked. "There's only one other place I can think of that he might have gotten into them and I wouldn't know a geranium from a dandelion. Would you come to check with me?"

"Sure."

She followed him into the house, and he showed her Molly's flower arrangement. It looked exactly the same as it had Friday.

"This is a spectacular arrangement," Mrs. Kusak said.

It was that. The flowers were all green blooms, arranged by gradient darkest in the middle to pale, almost white on the outside of the arrangement, the color transitions were subtle, practically photoshopped in appearance. It was how he knew she couldn't have changed it without him noticing. Removing one type of flower would have ruined the effect.

"My girlfriend is a florist," Joe said. "She'll be devastated if it's her flowers that hurt Bob, and I really just want to save her the guilt, for an innocent mistake."

"No need," Mrs. Kusak said, "There aren't any geraniums in this arrangement."

"You're sure?" Joe asked. She nodded.

"This is incredible," she said. "It's such a shame that this can't last forever. It almost doesn't look real, like it's a sculpture of flowers or something. And it's such a happy arrangement! My niece is getting married in a few months. I don't suppose you have a card or something I could give her?"

"No, but I'll give you Molly's information if you want it," he said. He wrote down Molly's store details, and Mrs. Kusak left. He called the vet and asked them if they had any vials of Bob's blood remaining, and asked them to save everything so he could have someone from the crime lab pick it up.

His gut was telling him it was deliberate but, because of the way Bob ate, there was no way to determine what had been poisoned. It could have been anything. To be on the safe side, he put a scoop of Bob's food from the bag of kibble into a ziplock, and he took the rest of it out to the street and put it in the trash.

He got back into his Jeep, and backed down his driveway, hesitating a minute, before deciding where he was going. He drove out to the Cubed Root.

When he got there, Molly was with a customer, putting together a flower arrangement. Bob was off of his bed, and sitting next to Molly, leaning against her healthy leg. She kept stopping to scratch the top of his head, and whenever she did, he'd wag his tail a little.

Joe went to Mary, not wishing to disturb Molly while she was working. "Bob's been like that all morning. He's been following Molly everywhere."

"I'm surprised he's not hiding from the flowers," Joe said. "When he ate that toad last summer he was afraid of anything that hopped for months."

"Maybe that's why he's glued to Molly," she said. "She's protecting him from the scary flowers."

"I'm impressed that she knew about the geraniums," Joe said.

"Oh," Mary said, "No, don't be. She has a book under the counter with all of the plants that we carry that are poisonous. And see how the buckets we keep the flowers in are different colors?"

"Yes," Joe said.

"The green ones are edible flowers, yellow are nonpoisonous, orange are plants that are harmful to pets, and anything in red is poisonous to everyone. And that fridge with the lock on it contains the plants that are highly toxic and only Molly has the key to that one."

Molly finished up with her client, and Mary rang her up while Molly said hello to Joe and put Bob back to bed.

"How can he still be feeling this bad?" Joe asked. "The doc said he'd metabolized the poison already."

"It's depression," Molly said. "It's caused by the poisons in the geraniums. We're supposed to help him out of it by rewarding positive behavior and by making sure he's not alone until he gets back to normal."

"Mary says you keep highly toxic flowers?" Joe asked.

"I do," Molly said.

"How toxic?"

"Well the Fox Glove and Oleander are more or less straight digitalis, so if you drink the water the plants are sitting in, you're going to have serious heart problems. I have to be careful how I dispose of the flowers and the water. The aconite is gorgeous but exceptionally poisonous, and the juice from the stems can be absorbed through the skin, and it's fatal. Angel's Trumpets contain scopolamine, which can be used as either an anti-nausea drug or it can be used to put someone into a highly suggestive state."

"I actually know something about that," Joe said. "We had a case where a bunch of people were dosed with it."

"That's scary," Molly said. "Why?"

"To screw over Vincent Plum," Joe said. "His wife was tired of his cheating and decided to get vengeance on a spectacular scale."

"They didn't get it from me," Molly said, "I don't stock a lot of it."

"Why do you keep plants that poisonous anyway?"

"They are beautiful and people like them. Hell Aconite is a common garden flower."

"Do you need a permit to have them?" Joe asked.

"Nope," Molly said.

"You're well versed in natural poisons then," Joe said.

"Yep," Molly said. "So if you ever need someone to tell you where to find a deadly plant, I'm your girl."

Joe closed his eyes and sighed. She wasn't even a little suspicious about his line of questioning. She was in a good mood and drinking her coffee without a care in the world. Two weeks ago, if someone had told him that his dog had been deliberately poisoned with a flower, and he was dating a florist he barely knew, he'd be arresting her under suspicion of animal cruelty and cutting his losses. Now he was sitting there, gently interrogating her, and hating every second of it, because he knew she was innocent.

"Joe," she said. "Are you all right?"

"Molly," he said. "Mrs. Kusak's geraniums were undisturbed."

"Oh," she said. "Do you want me to check out the other neighbors' gardens? Some species of geranium don't look like the common variety, and…"

"I think it was done on purpose," Joe said. "I don't think he got into a garden."

"What?" Molly said. "Joe… you don't think that I…"

"No," he said, quickly and firmly. "I think this was Lucien. I think this is what he was going to do to drive us apart. I think the stunt at the ballpark was to establish an alibi."

"No," she said. All of the color drained from her face, and she put her hand over her heart. "No… I… I'm going to be sick."

He reached for the trash can and brought it around to her. He held her hair off of her face, for her while she vomited and when it was over, he rubbed her back. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Molly," Joe said. "You did nothing wrong."

"Yes, I did!" She said. "Joe, I knew what he did to Michael, and I knew he'd be furious if I got close to you, and I put you and Bob in danger and…"

"You are not finishing that thought," Joe said firmly, "Do you hear me, Molly? You are not about to call this off to protect me, or Bob."

"But he could have killed Bob!"

"But he didn't," Joe said. "Bob is depressed, but he's fine. And what is ending this going to accomplish exactly? He's going to want to punish me for touching you, anyway. He's not going to leave me alone just because we're not together anymore. I refuse to let go of this, because what we've got going on here is better than good, and I'm not giving that up. Not over this, not over anything."

"What are we going to do?" She asked. "Tell me. Because I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you or Bob, because of me."

"It's not because of you," Joe said. "It's because of Lucien. What we're going to do, is we're going to stop this son of a bitch. In the meantime, Bob doesn't get left alone, ever."

"What if it was laced in his food?" Molly said.

"I'm having that tested," he said. "And I'll switch to canned food for a while so it can't be tampered with. Bob'll love it."

"Joe," she said. "I need you to be sure. I won't think less of you if you can't do this. I really won't. When this crap is all sorted out if you want to…"

"Molly," Joe said. "I'm sure."

"He went after Bob?" She said. "Like he really went after Bob?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "I want you to come with me back to the police station. I want to file a restraining order."

"I was told that if I tried that again…"

"That was in New York," Joe said. "We're in New Jersey."

"Okay," she said. "But you have to promise to post bail when I get arrested for contempt of court."

"I promise," he said. "I'll even hang out with you in lockup while you wait for your hearing."

"Thanks," she said. Joe helped her up, and they drove Bob to Joe's mother's and then took Molly to the station. She filled out the paperwork. The restraining order would cover both of them and their places of work and home. The Order would be good until there was a hearing to decide if it should be made permanent. Given how crammed the courts were, it should give her a month. If Lucien came anywhere near her in that time, he'd be arrested on the spot.

Three days after the TRO was issued, Detective Simpread called Joe at home. Simpread had taken a great deal of pleasure serving Brasseau with the Restraining Order, and then, at Joe's request, had Lucien followed.

Lucien stayed in his apartment for two days, before exiting the building and going to his lawyer's office. He remained in the offices for ten minutes before he was escorted out by his lawyer. Who Simpread said was holding the TRO papers. He said he'd take care of it, but that it might be time to just let it go. With Judge Clark retiring, he wouldn't be able to find another judge who was quite so sympathetic with Lucien's cause, and he didn't want to have to worry about all of his hard work getting undone.

Lucien got into his car and drove to a private club called Blades, where he exited his car and handed his keys to the valet. There were some harsh words delivered to the valet, and then someone Lucien appeared to know, approached. They were unable to get a clear shot of his face, thanks to a judiciously placed ball cap. They went into the lounge together, and they did not appear to exit the building. When Simpread saw the staff shut down the club, Simpread approached the valet.

"He told me that there is a gym in the facility and a bar, but the primary function of the club is to put luxury vehicles into longterm storage, where they will be properly maintained and cleaned before their owner returns from wherever they are going. They drop off the car, they wait in the bar for their party to arrive, and then they are taken to wherever they wish to go via luxury car service. Members of the club had access to the club's private airstrips, and helipads throughout the world."

"I take it Brasseau went to one of these Helipads?" Joe said.

"The valet said yes," Simpread said. "But I need a court order to find out where he went, and there is no way I'm going to get one."

"Do you know what the altercation with the valet was over?"

"Brasseau said they chipped the paint on his car the last time he used the service, and the paint color they used to fix it, didn't match the rest of the car. He wanted the whole car re-sprayed."

"Are they doing it?" Joe asked.

"Yep," he said. "Only they can't re-paint it the color it is currently because it's discontinued. He's apparently fine with that and told them to paint it dark blue. He only had it done in yellow because the car was supposed to be a gift for his ex after they got married."

"Did you say yellow?" Joe said.

"Yeah," Ron said, "Why?"

"I'm a fucking idiot," Joe said, "I have to go."

He hung up his phone and went to Eddie's desk where he grabbed the file box on Brasseau. He hauled it up onto Eddie's desk and started going through it until he got to the information on Brasseau's vehicle history. He'd completely forgotten about the asshole in the yellow BMW the morning he took Molly to the hospital.

There it was, Lucien's car was a metal flake yellow BMW M2 Coupe. He'd been there the second night she spent at Joe's house. He had to have followed them there. Eddie came back to see Joe disrupting the paperwork on his desk, and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Where's Finch?" Joe said.

"With the other zygotes in tech, flirting with that chick, Zoe," Eddie said.

Joe left Eddie with Joe's mess and found Finch eating a sandwich while talking to a rookie fresh out of the academy and working cyber crimes. "Those doorbell cameras, how much data do they hold?"

"They don't," Finch said. "It saves to a cloud account they rent from the manufacturer of the doorbells."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Joe said. "How much does it store?"

"It archives stuff forever, or until the manufacturer goes bust. Why?"

"I want you to go back as far as you can until you see the car in this file the first time. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Finch said. "It logs every movement in front of the doorbells. So basically any car that goes by the houses."

"Do it," Joe said.

"Why?"

"Just do it," Joe said.

He left the station and drove to the Cubed Root and instead of going into the store, he knocked on JigSaw's window. "Has he ever threatened her with more than just a trip to court?"

"Not a threat, no," JigSaw said. "There was an incident just after Ranger got involved."

"What happened?"

"I'll show you," JigSaw said.

He picked up his tablet from the passenger seat of the car and navigated through some screens and handed the tablet to Joe. The video showed a split screen of the empty store and Molly in her office. It looked like she was doing some bookkeeping and using her phone as a calculator when Brasseau entered the store.

"Just a minute," Molly called out. She went back to her calculations, unaware of the fact that Brasseau was the one in the store until she heard him on the stairs to her apartment, and she came running out of her office. At first, her face was pleasant, and a quick admonishment that the upstairs was off limits was halfway out of her lips when she saw that it was Lucien. She dove for her handbag under the counter and grabbed her panic button. She pressed it a bunch of times and then ran up the stairs after him. They could hear her telling him to get out, and then a threat to call the police, and the sound of something breaking, before they were both on the stairs again. Brasseau went to the cash register and opened the drawer while Molly tried to get him to stop, and he shoved her off of him. She hit the floor with a solid thump that winded her temporarily.

"There's hardly anything in here," he said.

"What? Were you tired of waiting for the courts to give you permission to rob me and figured you'd just skip a step?" Molly said.

"There's fifty dollars in here," he said. "Where's the rest of it? In your safe?"

"What safe?" Molly asked with a wry laugh.

"This is…"

"Pathetic?" Molly supplied for him. "Believe me I know. That's not even my money. It's Lester's. Work has been slow this month, and you officially took my last dime in that last payment. I'm broke, Lucien. You won."

"You think I've won?" He snarled. "You think I won? You think this is some fucking game?"

"I don't know what it is!" she yelled. "I don't know what you want from me! What do you want? Tell me so this can stop because I can't do this anymore."

"I want what I'm owed, Molly."

"What you're owed‽" She yelled and jumped to her feet. "You have our apartment, you have my store, my reputation, my friends, all of the money I made and saved and I'm paying you more a month in fucking support payments than I can make. When will it be enough? When I'm living out of a cardboard box on the streets?"

"I gave up everything for you Molly! Do you understand me‽ I gave up everything. I want it back, and I'm taking it back now."

"You already have everything!"

"No I don't," he hissed. "But I will, and I'll do anything I have to, to get it."

Ranger walked into the store, then, with his weapon drawn. "Get out."

Lucien put his hands in the air and walked out of the store.

"Come with me," Joe said. He went into the store with JigSaw and his tablet. Molly was in her office and came scooting out on her new contraption to see who was in the store. Her face lit into a smile when she saw Joe.

"You're a wonderful surprise," she said. She made to wheel over to Joe, and he held up a hand to stop her.

"I need to ask you some questions before I kiss you the way I want to right now, and it makes you stupid."

She looked torn between hurt and amused, "Okay."

"Show her the video," JigSaw said. He played it for Molly, and when it was over, she looked at Joe.

"If you're wondering why I stayed on the floor for so long, it's because I banged my tailbone pretty hard and both of my legs went numb for a second."

"Did something happen that day to piss him off."

"I don't know," she said, "We weren't exactly speaking then."

"Assume for a second that he was watching your every move, every second of the day."

"Joe it was months ago," she said, "I don't…"

"You were texting someone in the video," he said. "Who were you texting?"

She thought about it for a minute, and she shook her head, "I can't remember his name."

"It was a man?"

"yes but..."

"Just tell me everything you remember, how you met, whatever you can recall."

"Lester and I had lunch that day. Lester was trying to talk me into accepting a job at Rangeman. He wanted me to rebuild my credit and use the money I would have been paying in rent, towards start-up capital for when I re-opened the cubed root. He got called away to something, I don't know what, but Lester paid the bill, and told me to think about it. This guy sat next to me, he said his ex-girlfriend was like that, always leaving in the middle of dates. The job always came first. I told him Lester was my brother, and we flirted a bit and exchanged numbers."

"That was that day," Joe said. "How long before Lucien showed up?"

"I can't remember. You could probably find it in my phone records, he drop-called me, so I had his number," Molly said. She frowned, "Huh."

"What?"

"I forgot about him because he didn't text me after that."

"It was the same number you were using when we met?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Molly said.

"Why didn't you go through with Lester's idea?" Joe asked. "Stubbornness?"

"Ric told me that Lester hadn't run the idea by him yet. He wasn't going to hire me. What Ric did do was sign a one year contract to have me supply flowers for all of the apartments, and lobby at Rangeman. And he sent a client my way, a friend of his who was having a big circus of a wedding. It was enough to get me through a serious dry spell."

"Would you have taken it, if he'd offered you a job?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Molly said, "Which is why he didn't. I stumbled for a second, and I needed a hand, not to become dependant on a crutch I didn't really need."

Joe forgot his next question, and just cleared the few feet that separated them, and kissed her until she was breathless and a little crosseyed.

"What was that for?" She asked.

"It's just what I want to do whenever I see you," Joe said. He kissed her again. "I'll be home for dinner tonight. Want me to pick something up?"

"Sure," she said, and blew out some air, "I know why you wanted to ask me questions first."

He grinned. "Later, Sweetheart."

He went back to the station and pulled Molly's phone records from the day Lucien went into her store and took the $50 out of her cash register. He found the drop call. The number belonged to a Roger Paziclovich. Joe ran the name through the system.

On the same day Roger met Molly, he was mugged on his way home from work. He was waiting for the bus when a man came up to him and slammed his face into the side of the bus shelter. Roger managed to get his phone out, and his attacker took it from him, put it down on the bench in the bus shelter, and then repeatedly smashed Roger's face into it, before taking Roger's wallet, and watch. All Roger could remember about his attacker was that before he used Roger's face to smash his phone to smithereens, he said, "This is what happens when you try to take things that don't belong to you."

Roger said he thought the guy sounded foreign, maybe French.

"Finch!" Joe yelled. "What's going on with that car!"

Septimus came hurrying over to Joe's desk, "I'm still looking, but it looks like there's no sign of his car before the fourth."

"The fourth?" Joe said, "Not the fifth?"

"No, the fourth. A taxi pulled up into the camera blind spot in front of your house and pulled away. Then a few minutes later the BMW pulled up in front of your neighbor's house and stayed there until the morning when it left suddenly. A few minutes after that, a black 9-11 showed up."

"He's intercepting her text messages," Joe said. "Manoso texted Molly to say he was five minutes out. That's how Brasseau knew when to clear out, and that's how he knows where Molly is going to be when she goes on dates."

"She needs to change her phone number," Finch said.

"She just did, when she replaced her phone. When else did you see the car?"

"It was there all night on the 5th and left just before you did on the morning of the 6th. It showed up just after you got home that night, and stayed until an hour before your neighbor's car was vandalized. It hasn't been there since that night."

"It hasn't been there since Manoso put a protective detail on my street," Joe said.

Joe put everything he had together. All of it was circumstantial evidence, but he wasn't looking for a conviction, just enough reason for any sane judge to agree that Molly's fear of Lucien was justified enough to warrant a permanent restraining order. The implied threat in the store, the assault of a man she'd exchanged numbers with after he'd issued that threat. The incident at the ball game, and then Lucien's presence on the night they met and the subsequent nights until Ranger put the men on the street. Bob. It should be more than enough. Especially if what Simpread heard was an indication that Lucien's pull within the justice system was now gone. If they could do this, Molly could breathe a little easier, and they might actually get to that stability Molly said she was looking for.


	11. Chapter 11

**_AN: I was wrong, there weren't two chapters of Molly ready to go... there were three! So here you go. You may have this one today and the next part, probably in time for the weekend. Enjoy!_**

A month went by, and Molly was more than capable of moving back home. She used the scooter a lot, but as soon as the Air Cast was put on, she was able to function with a cane, and she could get around the house alone. She thought about moving out of Joe's place but she just never got around to it. In fact, if anything, more of her stuff was migrating to the house. They'd tried to spend the night at her place a couple of times, but Bob didn't like her stairs and needed to be carried up and down them, or left in the store downstairs. Since he couldn't be trusted to be alone with the flowers, it was easiest just to stay at Joe's house unless Angie had the dog. And even then they usually stayed at Joe's because he had a better kitchen and they could watch baseball on his television and weren't restricted to her little phone screen.

It was the middle of the night, what time, Molly had no idea, but she was awake. The morning before, when she thought she was alone in the shower, she'd been muttering to herself about the inconvenience of living out of the series of canvas grocery bags that she'd been using to sort her clothes in. Every day Molly would go into the guest bedroom and get the bags out of the closet and choose what she was going to wear, and then she'd have to spend twenty minutes ironing anything that didn't get hung up in Joe's closet. It didn't matter how carefully she put the bags away, the clothes always came out wrinkled, and it was pissing her off.

She hadn't realized Joe was in the bathroom until he climbed into the shower with her and offered to clean out a couple of drawers in his dresser. She told him it was a big step, and asked him if he was ready for the commitment that implied. His answer had been to use his hands and mouth to put her in a much better mood than the one she'd entered the shower in. She was actually humming to herself while she ironed her blouse that morning.

When she got back to his place after work, supper was waiting, and he was sporting a mischievous grin.

"What are you up to?" She asked.

"Nothing," he said. "This morning just put me in a good mood."

"You're such a liar," Molly said.

She'd gone upstairs to change out of her work clothes, into something more comfortable, and her things were gone from the guest room closet. The only things that remained were the canvas bags which had been neatly folded and put on the top shelf. When she turned around Joe was standing there.

"Before I joined you in the shower this morning, I got a call asking me to switch a shift with someone. I was going to tell you I had the day off and try to convince you to play hooky with me."

Mary had been working part-time for Molly, a couple of days a week so Molly could go to physiotherapy and doctor's appointments, and not have to close the store. She was being paid on commission, and she was doing an excellent job of drumming up business through word of mouth. For the first time in years, Molly was in a position to actually take days off of work without guilt, and she felt a pang of disappointment because she probably would have played hooky with Joe.

"Why didn't you?" She asked.

"Because it's much easier to surprise you when you're not here," he said. He took Molly's hand and led her to the bedroom. He made her close her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was standing in front of the closet. Half of the space had been cleared out to accommodate her things. Her shoes were arranged neatly on a shoe rack beneath some of the clothes that had been occupying the bags. All of the garments had been freshly pressed, probably by Angie Morelli since Joe didn't even own an iron, and Molly had been using her own.

She turned to look at the dresser, expecting to discover the rest of her things in the drawers. It was then that she realized that Joe had completely rearranged the bedroom.

The television cabinet was gone, and the TV was mounted to the wall over Joe's dresser. The cabinet had been replaced by the chest of drawers that used to belong in the guest bedroom before Bob had chewed off two of the wooden drawer pulls and through one of the legs, and Joe had to move it to the basement with the rest of the furniture that was no longer fit for public view thanks to Bob's eating disorder.

Joe had replaced the legs with low metal claw feet, and the drawer pulls had been changed to hardware that matched the feet. He'd put a mirror on the wall to cover the holes in the drywall from where the television used to be mounted. Her clothes were already unpacked in the drawers, and her jewelry box and docking station for her phone were in place on top of a pretty hand crocheted runner that ran the length of the top of the dresser. More touches from Angie, she was sure.

"Does that answer your question from this morning?" Joe asked. She'd felt like crying, she was so damned happy. All she'd been able to do was nod.

They spent the rest of the evening making love. They hadn't used a condom. It was the first time they had forgotten one. It hadn't crossed her mind at all until ten minutes ago when she woke up and realized that Joe had gone to sleep, holding her in his arms, but he hadn't gotten out of bed to ditch the condom.

It was very strange, they never forgot the condom. Even in the shower, Joe always, always used them. There was never any question about it, and he was good about distracting her so she barely noticed the interruption when he put the condom on, so what had been different about earlier? Then she realized, it was her. She'd been the one to initiate things, to do everything really. She'd wanted to show him how she felt and she'd forgotten to stop.

"Molly," Joe muttered, "You're overthinking whatever you're thinking about."

"How do you know?" She asked.

"It's four in the morning," he said. "Everybody overthinks everything at four in the morning."

"We forgot a condom that last time," Molly said.

"No we didn't," Joe said.

"Think about it," Molly said. "Really think about it."

Joe stilled next to her, "Shit, you're right. Jesus, Molly, I'm sorry."

"No it was me," she said. "I got caught up in the moment and…"

"It takes two to tango, Sweetheart," he said. "I forgot too."

She rolled onto her back, and he propped himself up onto his elbow. "I just started taking the pill again; I'm sure we're okay so you don't have to be concerned…"

Joe got a funny look on his face and then he stroked her belly lightly with his hand. "Would it be a bad thing?"

"Do you think it would?"

"No," he said, "I like having you to myself, but if your pill didn't work… I dunno, I'm enjoying the idea of my baby being in there."

"Me too," she said, and felt a smile creep over her lips, "But I'm still going to keep taking my pill unless we find out that our little lapse resulted in something."

"Please do," he said with a chuckle. "And I'll make sure one of us remembers…"

"Do you have to?" She asked.

"No," he said.

"Th-then don't," she said.

He moved over her, settling between her legs. He braced himself on his forearms and looked down at her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, "If you are…"

He kissed her, and she tried to let him know how she felt without actually saying it. It was too soon to tell him that she loved him. Wasn't it? His lips met the pulse at her throat and she stopped thinking. She was all about feeling, as his mouth moved steadily South, and she had to concentrate on breathing. He was under the blankets, and his teeth had just grazed her hip when his cell phone rang.

She groaned, and because she was closer to it, she reached for it and handed it to him. He answered it and put it on mute while he continued to tease her by licking and kissing his way around where she wanted him. Then his shoulders slumped, and he rested his head against her belly.

"Of course you do. How much of this story am I going to get? All of it? 70%? 20%? Did you move it because it was inconveniently located, and now you can't find it?"

He came out from under the blankets and sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

"You know what?" Joe said, "I'm lying here, in bed, _not_ alone and instead of being pissed off that I think you're yanking my chain about this, I am considering the fact that you're probably serious, and looking forward to the day where you call me at four in the morning with something normal, like I dunno, a quadruple homicide. Just tell me one thing, did you do anything illegal to find yourself at this crime scene? There's a silver lining, I guess." He looked at his phone to check the time, and then listened to it for a beat, "Let me grab a shower, and some coffee and I'll be right over."

He disconnected, and Molly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Where are you going?" Joe asked.

"To put the coffee on while you take a shower," she said.

"I have a better idea," he said and pulled her back into bed. "You're going to have to be quick."

"Make me," Molly said. He did, and when he left her, she felt like Jello.

When she finally got out of bed a couple of hours later, she was in a good mood. She was daydreaming as she got dressed, and made Bob and herself each a bagel for breakfast. "I'm completely screwed when it comes to your dad," she said to Bob as she broke his bagel and with bacon cream cheese into quarters and handed him a piece. "I'm going to sound like a cliche right now, but I've never felt this way before. I feel like I need to get some distance on it, just so I can think. Like maybe next time he works a night shift, I should stay in my own apartment."

Bob responded by pawing at her good leg and impatiently whimpering because she was still holding the bagel hostage. "You're right. That's a terrible idea. Who would look after you while he was at work?" She handed him another chunk and picked up her phone to check for any messages she'd missed in the night, while the phone was charging in the kitchen. She had one from Mary saying that her air conditioning was out. All the more reason not to stay at her place. Molly gave Bob the rest of his bagel, and called Angie to tell her that it would be too hot in the store for the dog, and asked if she could swing by with him on her way to her doctor's appointment. Angie agreed, and Molly finished off her breakfast and clipped Bob's leash to his collar and he followed her to the front door.

She didn't really want to get some space on things to think about them. She liked feeling head over heels. She liked how rich and warm Joe's voice had sounded when he spoke about the possibility of her getting pregnant because they got caught up in a moment of passion. Yes the possibility was extremely remote and there was no reason to think the pill wouldn't work, but still… she put her hand on her belly and slipped into another daydream. She gave her head a shake, and slid her foot into a sandal, and went outside into a wall of heat.

It was only 7:30 in the morning and it had to be 90 degrees outside. She was already pulling her hair into a braid when she got to the car. There was no way her anti-frizz gunk was going to be able to compete with the humidity. Either she tied her hair back, or she resigned herself to the fact that the next time Joe saw her, she'd be resembling an 80's pop star who'd lost a fight with her crimping iron.

She loaded Bob into the back of the Cutlass and climbed into the front seat next to JigSaw. They swung by Angie's and dropped Bob off, and then JigSaw took her to the orthopedist to get another round of x-rays and get examined again. The doctor told her she could throw away the boot, and Molly celebrated by buying a new shade of nail polish from the drugstore next to the doctor's office.

She got to the store and Mary was sitting in front of the fan looking like she was dying of dehydration. Molly sent her home and spent twenty minutes giving herself a French manicure with black metallic tips.

An hour later Molly was bored out of her mind. It was too hot. Nobody was venturing out to the middle of a sun-drenched industrial park to look at flowers. People were barely venturing outside of their homes and offices. She turned on her laptop, and the power flickered slightly. "Greeaat," she said and unplugged the computer so it wasn't connected to anything in case there was a power surge. The laptop felt hot, so she pointed the desk fan at it, hoping it might help. All it did was turbocharge hot air into her face, so it probably wasn't doing much for the machine.

She did her bookkeeping and crunched some numbers. If she could figure out a way to drive up revenue, she might be able to keep Mary and pay her some kind of salary, but she'd need a new location. Her budget, however, was prohibitively small and all she turned up in an online property search was a garage that had been vacant for about eight years and the empty unit near hers in the industrial park.

She looked at the clock and called Joe. She always spoke to him around midday, whether they met up for lunch or just had a conversation, it was a part of their daily routine that she really looked forward to. Her stomach did a delightful little summersault when he answered the phone, and she caught herself playing with her hair like she was fifteen and talking to a boy she liked.

"Hey," she said. "I'm quitting, and I'm going to be an architect again."

"Slow today?" He asked.

"Slow would imply that I've had any sort of traffic. I know the heat is a factor, but this is crazy. I need a new location."

"Have you been looking?"

"Yes," she said and told him about her options.

"The garage is actually not a bad idea," Joe said.

"Why?" She asked.

"It shares a parking lot with a nail salon, a cake bakery, and Tina's bridal," Joe said.

"You're joking," she said.

"Nope," Joe said. "I don't know how long you'll be able to keep it, because I think it's up for sale, but maybe if you're renting he'll reconsider putting it on the market."

"Online it looks like it's falling apart, and it's going to need a lot of work. I wonder if I can barter my architectural skills for a break in the rent?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Joe said. "I went to school with Damon Pratt, (the man who owns the garage) and he's a decent guy. Let me put in a good word for you; he'll probably be grateful that you're going to save him some money."

"More like spend it," she said. She clicked on the contact link for Pratt and sent him a quick email saying she'd like to make an appointment to see the property, and her computer froze solid and shut down.

"Fuck," she said.

"What?" Joe asked.

"My computer just overheated. I quit. I'm bored, I'm hot I…" She paused as an Audi A4 pulled into the lot directly in front of her store. A woman in her mid to late twenties got out, clutching a frilly floral binder, "Oh this looks promising, I think I might have a customer. She's carrying a decidedly bridal looking organizer, and she's parked in front of my store. Somehow I doubt she's going shopping for work boots."

"Have fun," he said. And then unbelievably the woman went into the work boots place, and Molly groaned.

"I was wrong, she's not coming here," Molly said. "I quit."

"Try a new location first," Joe said. "My other line is going; I'll drop by with lunch in about an hour."

"Okay, I love you," Molly said then let out a squeak, slapped her hand over her mouth and then turned the phone off and flung it away from herself in horror.

"What's wrong?" The woman with the binder asked, and Molly shrieked again, not expecting her to be there.

"I just told my boyfriend I loved him," Molly said.

"Why's that bad?" She asked.

"We've only been dating about a month and a half…almost," Molly said.

"Yeah, you're allowed to think that, but unless you're really into the idea of sending him screaming for the hills, it's a bad idea to tell him."

"You don't think I know that?" Molly said, a little hysterically.

"It's going to be okay," the woman said. "I accidentally told my boss I loved him because he has the same first name as my fiancé and it just came out. You could pretend you were thinking about someone else, and walk this back."

"You're right. Joe's a reasonable guy, and…" Molly's phone buzzed. Joe was texting her. "Fuck."

"That him?"

"Yeah, he canceled the lunch date we just made," Molly said, "He's a Cop, and he's probably just drawn a case like he says, right?"

"Absolutely. Don't borrow trouble," the girl said. Molly put her head down on her counter and groaned. The girl patted her hair sympathetically. "Holy shit. You're her aren't you? You're Molly Von G."

Molly looked up and saw the girl holding one of the business cards for The Cubed Root.

"Yes."

"The Molly Von G."

"I guess so," Molly said.

"I didn't recognize you without your purple hair," she said. She suddenly screamed in excitement and started jumping up and down. She whipped her phone out and snapped Molly's picture and texted it to someone.

"Sorry, I had to send that to my sister because she's never going to believe me without it. This was such a damned long shot. I'm getting married in Princeton and mom wanted me to use a florist from New Jersey. I actually wanted you, but we couldn't find you in New York, and then I was flicking through stuff online and saw a Yelp review of a wedding this place did last summer, and something about it reminded me of your work with Von G Designs. I thought maybe whoever was here might be able to give me the same feel as some of your work but I didn't think for a second it would be actual you."

"Surprise," Molly said, wearily.

"My name is Camilla Dawson, and I'm getting married on October 1st. Are you free on October 1st? Tell me you're free on October 1st."

"Yes," Molly said, "But you're cutting it close, it's already August."

"I know," she said, "I know, but I just really wanted you for this job, and I've been sooo picky. So here's the deal, my soon to be father-in-law is renovating an apple barn for the reception. It's really cool, actually. It's kind of this funky octagonal shape with these huge ceilings. It's an empty shell with unpainted drywall because I told him I don't want rustic, and I want you to decorate the whole place."

Camilla plopped down her binder and flipped the pages to pictures of a gorgeous old barn that on the inside had reclaimed barn board floors that were polished to the nth degree, and accompanied by seemingly endless walls of unpainted drywall.

"What do you think you want done with it?" Molly asked.

"I want the full Molly Von G treatment," she said. "Just hang on. I've got stuff in my car."

"Wait," Molly said and held up her hands. "I don't keep the place like this for my flowers. My AC is down, and part of me is pretty sure you're a hallucination brought about by dehydration. Do you mind if we go to the diner next door? I'll buy you an iced coffee."

"Perfect," Camilla said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "It's too hot in here."

Molly led her out and locked the doors. She stuck a post it on the door telling any future non-existent customers where to find her and went to speak to the owner of the diner. The diner's owner's name was Kim, and she was one of Molly's regular customers. All of the bud vases on the tables were filled by Molly, and at Easter and Christmas, she had Molly deck the place out with seasonal flora.

"Hey, can I use one of your booths? My AC is out, and I'm dying," Molly asked Kim.

"Your dog isn't in the store with you is he?" Kim asked.

"No, he's with his grandma," Molly said.

"Good," Kim said. "Could you imagine what he'd feel like with that coat, in this heat?"

"Exactly why I didn't bring him with me today. He did look extra tragic when I left him at Joe's mom's place though. I think he loves the extra attention and now he's milking it," Molly said.

Kim laughed and told her to take one of the big corner booths, just as Camilla walked in. Molly pointed Camilla to the table where the two women sat together and took a moment to take restorative sips of their iced coffees.

"Show me what you're thinking about," Molly said. Camilla showed her magazine clippings of some of Molly's more out there designs, and some of the gowns from the Met Gala.

"I like all of this, but I don't want you doing this. I want something outrageous but elegant like these designs. I want people to be talking about it forever," Camilla said.

"What's your budget?" Molly asked.

"$50,000-$75,000," she said. Molly almost spat out her coffee. "I know it's last minute, and that it'll take some time but if you could do it for that, I'd be grateful."

That was more or less an unlimited budget for her. "That's…"

"Just start with that, and if you need to go over, my parents will cough up the money. Seriously, that was the budget for just anybody, but they said if I found you, they'd rather not hamper your creativity."

With one exception, not even at the height of Von G had she been offered that much for a single event. She always felt like she was overcharging people, but this was incredible.

"You want me to do the whole space however I want?" Molly said.

"Yes," Camilla said with an emphatic nod of her head.

"How do you feel about chaos?" Molly asked.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher; I love chaos," she said.

"You're sure money is no object?" Molly asked. "This budget here is real?"

"Absolutely. Daddy's loaded. My sister and I don't inherit anything if we don't work. He doesn't care what we do, so long as it's a real job and it's something we love. I love little kids, so I'm a teacher."

"Seriously?"

"Yep," Camilla said. "I can pay you $25,000 today if you'd like to secure the date, but I wouldn't expect you to start working until the cheque cleared."

"Okay," Molly said. "Leave the pictures with me for the afternoon, and I'll get preliminary sketches to you by the end of the day."

"Thank you so much," she said. "Seriously you have no idea how exciting this is for me. Should I write you a cheque, give you a credit card? What?"

"Let's nail down a design first, and I'll work on a quote for you."

"Spare absolutely no expense. Seriously, when daddy finds out that not only have I found you, but you're still in the business, he's going to pay whatever you ask and probably brag about it."

Molly saw her to the door of the diner, and then went back to the booth and sat down hard. She looked at her hands, and they were shaking. This was crazy. If this was for real and not Lucien being a prick it would solve a lot of her problems. "Oh shit, Lucien."

She needed to call Joe or Ric. She needed to protect this money somehow, and she had no idea how to do it. If Lucien got wind of it, would he believe for a minute that this was a walk-in client? She had the security camera Ric installed, and it would have their initial interaction, but would it be enough to convince the judge when Lucien inevitably dragged her back into court?

She dialed Joe and got his voicemail. She sent him a text asking him to call her when he had a minute, and then she called Ric. His phone also went right to voicemail, and she texted him telling him that she had a potentially huge client, and asked him to run a background check on Camilla. That done, she ordered herself another iced coffee to-go and left the diner.

She went back to her shop, and she opened the door and flicked the light switch. The power cut out when she turned the lights on, and she went to the panel, to check the breakers. None of them were blown, but her unit was the only one out.

"Fuck it," she said. She went back to the counter, closed up her laptop, and she went out to see JigSaw. "Take me to Joe's. I can't work today; not in this heat."

"What was that meeting about just now?" JigSaw asked.

"The biggest contract I've had since the Met Gala," Molly said. "This could put me back on the radar JigSaw."

She told him about the meeting on the way back to Joe's. She had everything she needed in order to start the designs of the space, and Camilla had given her dimensions, to go with the photographs. The second Molly saw the interior of the barn, she knew what she wanted, and it was going to be expensive, but it was going to be amazing.

She spent about an hour drawing it when she got a phone call from Damon Pratt, the owner of the garage. "So I was talking to your man, and he says you are some hot shit architect," Damon said.

"I used to be," Molly said.

"Do you have time to look at the garage today?"

"Yeah, my power went out, so I had to shut down the shop. I'm free all afternoon."

"Meet me there in twenty?" He asked.

"Sure," Molly said. She went to the bathroom to touch up her makeup, and she packed up her portfolio, which was sitting on the dining room table. Then she made a quick call to Joe's brother Tony.

They'd been spending a lot of time together working on Joe's basement. Tony would go to the house, work for the day, and then drop by Molly's work to talk about progress before she went home. The foundation was fixed, and he'd gutted the basement, and replaced some support beams, wiring, and put in the plumbing for the downstairs bathroom. The walls were framed, but Joe wanted to do the rest himself.

She managed to reach Tony and told him she might have more work for him, and he agreed to meet her at the garage. He was waiting for her when she got there, already deep in conversation with Damon.

Tony had just finished making introductions when a bunch of fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars went screaming by.

"Accident?" Molly said to Tony.

"Too many firetrucks; I'm thinking it's an actual fire."

"It's a been like this all day," Damon said. "I know it's hot but everything is sweating, and we've been getting a lot of rain, you'd think fires would be unlikely."

"People get stupid with portable AC units and fans when it's hot like this," Tony said. "They end up shorting the units, and overloading sockets causing electrical fires."

"And the conditions are perfect for a mulch fire," Molly said. Tony nodded in agreement.

"A what now?" Damon asked.

"It's like a hay fire," Molly said. "It looks like spontaneous combustion, but it isn't. See when you get a lot of rain followed by intense heat like we've been having, you get decay in the bales (or piles of mulch), and you get mesophilic bacteria. The bacteria then raise the interior temperature of the bail enough to create a breeding ground for thermophilic bacteria, which then raises the temperature even more to the point that you get combustion," Molly said.

"You're like, the hottest nerd I've ever met," Tony said.

"Agreed," Damon said, "But I have to ask, how often does that sort of fire actually happen?"

"I had a neighbor whose house burned down because the mulch in her backyard spontaneously went up and ignited the cedar siding," Molly said. "The weather was just like this."

"I saw something like that happen on my uncle's farm," Tony said.

"You have an uncle who has a farm?" Molly said. "Joe never said."

"My family is bigger than yours. It'd take him longer than you've been together just to list them all," Tony said. "Should we go look at this place?"

The garage was perfect, and Tony began discussing demolition, and budget with Damon while Molly took pictures and measurements. Deals were made, and they shook hands. All in all, it had been a fantastic day, and she would have called Joe to thank him for talking to Damon, had it not been for the fact that she had zero bars on her phone.

"Is service always bad here?" Molly asked.

"No," Damon said. "It's a bit sketchy in the parking lot closer to the bridal salon, but this building usually has decent coverage."

She went back to the car, where JigSaw was looking unhappy.

"What?" She asked.

"There was a big accident on Hamilton, and the boss has us check in whenever something like that happens."

"So call," Molly said.

"No signal," he said. "I need to get to a phone."

"I want to grab a couple of things from the store for this idea I had. We're not far from there so we can swing by, you can use the phone at Kim's and then we can go back to Joe's. I have some leftover chicken."

"You're offering to make me some chicken salad?"

"Yep," she said.

"With the Cajun mayo?"

"Why not? I'll even do that kale salad you like."

"It's not even my birthday," JigSaw said.

"Hey, you know everything," she said as she closed the car door, and cranked down her window.

"Yup," JigSaw said.

"Do you think bales of paper can spontaneously combust like bales of hay?"

"I don't see why not," JigSaw said and started the car. "Worried about the recycling plant?"

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop," Molly said.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I know I said this would be ready for the weekend, but my arm had other ideas. So here is an update on the wrist situation. I'm feeling better, but I still need to be wearing the splint. There's good news and bad news about my writing. Molly is more or less finished. I have tweaking to do with each of the remaining chapters, but there isn't a lot of typing involved. I should be able to start posting with more frequency next week. The remainder of Saturday, however, exists as a few very rough chapters on my computer, and a plot outline on my whiteboard. It was fine like that when I had two good wrists, but I'm supposed to be cutting way back on the number of words I type a day, so that means it's going to take longer to produce. Thank you so much for reading and for your patience! Your reviews keep me motivated, so keep them coming!  
**

Joe hung up his phone and laughed before he picked up the call waiting for him on line two.

"Hey, you wanna come out here and look at this scene again?" Detective Buckerson asked.

The early morning call had been Stephanie, and she was outdoing herself with the fucked up factor of the murder she'd walked into. He had swung by the station to pick up Buckerson who had to be dragged away from his desk. Bucky was new to the precinct and had only heard tell about the legend that was Stephanie Plum. He wasn't thrilled about drawing one of her cases.

Joe wasn't so concerned about that, he had chosen Bucky as the lead detective because Stephanie's cases served as an excellent initiation to TPD.

"Why?" Morelli asked.

"I need some insight on your ex," Bucky said.

"Why?"

"She's different," he said, "Who uses a rubber head as a distraction?"

"Stephanie Plum," Joe said.

"How credible is she?"

"Very," Joe said.

"Muppets?" He asked.

"If by the end of this case, you haven't found yourself conducting an interrogation while inside a garbage can, with Oscar the Grouch, and the only weapons pulled on you have been guns, I'll apologize and make sure the next case I give you is a weird one."

"Just get out here would you?" Bucky said. "I'm out of my league."

"Yeah, yeah," Joe said.

He hung up the phone and sent Molly a text telling her that he had to bail on lunch so he could go back out to the crime scene. She'd be sufficiently freaked out by that. Sure he'd just given her a dresser to move her shit into, to let her know that he was serious about moving their relationship forward and yes, they'd discussed what would happen if she got pregnant and both of them were pretty happy with the idea. Her freak out for accidentally admitting that she loved him was insane, but she was overheated and sleep deprived, and probably not thinking all that clearly.

He placed a call to Pratt to let him know that Molly wanted to look at the garage and talked up her skills as an architect. Pratt was more than interested. Joe got the impression that Pratt was going to sell Molly hard on renting his property. Even if she only signed a one year lease and then moved on, she could up the property value of the store for him. They hoped.

If she did move the store to the garage, she was going to need a new place to live. Which put another thought into Joe's head.

He was pondering it when Big Dog and Carl pulled chairs up to his desk and sat down in front of him. "So we think it's time to stage an intervention," Carl said.

"With whom?" Joe asked.

"You," Carl said. "It's been six months. Time to get back in the saddle man."

"What are you talking about?" Joe asked.

"You did the rebound thing with that accountant chick, and that was a good thing, but then you turned into a monk. You never go out, and you don't hit on women anymore. That CSI was both hot and seriously into you this morning, and you couldn't get away from that crime scene fast enough."

"I bailed because I have a station to run," Joe said, "Bucky can handle it."

"Yeah that would be a good excuse, but the Captain is back today. You can stop."

"I have a debriefing to do in ten minutes, and about a dozen requisitions to sign off on before I go in there," Joe said.

"Besides, Morelli is seeing someone," Eddie said and perched on the edge of Joe's desk.

"Say what now?" Carl asked.

"A florist named Molly Von G," Eddie said, "She's hot too. How have you not seen her? She visits a lot."

"What's the G stand for?" Big Dog asked.

"Gangsta," Joe said. "And why the fuck am I signing a requisition for Tomato Cages? Am I being punked?"

"There's a rooftop vegetable garden; it's part of a community outreach program. Where have you been?" Eddie said.

"Solving crimes," Joe said.

He signed the requisition and put the paper down.

"I didn't know there was a garden on the roof," Carl said.

"Am I the only one here who pays attention to anything?" Eddie said.

"Well I'm busy being a cop," Joe said, "And these two are useless."

"Seriously, what's the G stand for?" Big Dog asked.

"Grimmelshaussen," Joe said.

"Can you spell that?"

"Not correctly," Joe said.

"You got a picture of this Molly Von Gesundheit?" Carl asked. "Just so we know she's not a figment of your imagination. Cause it really sounds like you made that up."

Joe tossed his cell phone across his desk, and Carl pressed the home button. The picture was Molly, using Bob as a pillow while watching a ball game on the sofa. She was wearing this light grey-purple jersey dress that clung to her in all the right places, and though it wasn't evident in the picture, Joe knew she wasn't wearing a bra. She'd looked really good when he came home and found the bra hanging from the doorknob.

"Yowza," Carl said.

"Yowza?" Eddie said, "You're going with yowza?"

"She's fucking hot," Carl said.

"Yes, she is," Joe said, "Now can we get back to our jobs? I have to go out to that crime scene again after I debrief with the captain."

"Wait, how does Eddie know about her before we did?" Big Dog asked.

"He likes me more than he likes you," Eddie said. "Oh and you two are the biggest gossips on the force, and she's Lester Santos's sister. We wanted Santos to get used to the idea of Joe sleeping with his sainted little sister before you had a chance to do your public speculation about what she has to be like in the sack to keep Joe's attention. If you'd known sooner, you would have said something to Santos at some crime scene, and the next thing we knew we'd be cleaning up the mess after Santos shoved Morelli through a meat grinder."

"Well you do have to wonder," Carl said. "With Stephanie it made sense. The crazy ones are always good in bed, but a florist seems a touch laid back for you."

"Did you miss the part about her being related to Santos? Means she's Manoso's cousin. Means that he takes his life into his hands every time he touches her," Big Dog said. "He gets a huge hit of adrenaline every time she's in the room. Personally, I think he needs counseling for his thrill issues. You have spoken to a department shrink right, Morelli?"

"Don't you have better things to do?" Joe said, "Or has all crime in Trenton been solved?"

"It's too hot," Carl said, "The only people with the energy to cause harm are the crazies in the muppet costumes. Everyone else is sticking inside where there's AC."

"Then help Bucky run down the threats on Stephanie," Joe said.

"This is more fun," Carl said.

Joe rolled his eyes and left them to go to his meeting with the Captain.

Captain Theodore Hodges had come on board to run the precinct when Joe Juniak ran for office. He was the reverse of the usual story. He was once a lawyer, working for the Public Defender's office, and decided he'd rather be a cop. He got a lot of flack at first, because they didn't think he could hack it as a Public Defender, and thought he had chosen to be a cop because it was easier. The reality was that he was tired of trying to defend people who were clearly guilty, and found himself agreeing with the police officers he was cross-examining on the witness stand. It turned out that he was a brilliant police officer, advanced quickly through the ranks, and worked as a robbery-homicide Detective for a lot of years before he took the desk job. He was dedicated, and an excellent advocate for his men.

When Joe was arrested and exonerated, there was no party to welcome him back to the force. Nobody was patting him on the back for working with Stephanie to clear his name. There were cold shoulders, and a lot of people pissed off that he'd skipped bail. Noses were bent out of joint because by skipping out on his court date, he'd basically told all of the Detectives on the case that he was better than they were. That they'd basically convicted him already and refused to even consider that he was telling the truth, had not crossed their minds. Nor did they consider that it would be a death sentence if he stepped foot in a jail cell. No, he should have trusted the justice system.

Joe had to bust his ass to regain the respect he once had, pulling double shifts, always saying yes when someone asked him to switch shifts, volunteering to work holidays, taking shitty assignments, etc. His fellow boys in blue had slowly started coming around, but any hint that he'd be interested in advancement was laughed at, and the murder arrest was brought up. Then Hodges had come on board, and he didn't give a damn about Joe's arrest, or the bail jumping. He cared about the fact that Joe was an excellent Detective, and promoted him almost immediately. He stuck his neck out for Joe on multiple occasions and pushed Joe to succeed, and Joe had a lot of respect for the man.

"How's Molly?" Hodges asked when Joe walked into the office.

They'd run into the Hodges family at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago, and Hodges had threatened to ticket Molly for reckless scooting when she knocked a cereal box off of a shelf. Then she'd gamely let his grandchildren ride around on it, while the adults chatted in front of the Cheerios. While they were in line at the register, and Molly was anally organizing things on the checkout belt, based on where they were to be put away in the kitchen and pleasantly micromanaging the packing of groceries into the shopping bags, Mrs. Hodges told Joe that Molly had her 100% approval and she was going to say so, to Joe's mother at their next Bridge game. They'd been to dinner at the Captain's house the following Sunday, and while the women were discussing Mrs. Hodges' rose garden, Joe had filled the Captain in on Brasseau.

"Bored," Joe said.

"Your hearing for your restraining order has a date?" The Captain asked.

"Just got it this morning," Joe said. "We haven't heard a word from Brasseau since the TRO was issued."

"Does she know about Bob?" The Captain asked.

"She knows that I suspected that his poisoning was deliberate, but I didn't confirm it."

The crime lab ran Bob's blood panel, and while yes the toxin was the stuff found in geraniums, it was in too high a concentration to have been from Bob eating the flowers. Someone had dosed him. In what, they didn't know; the dog food had come back clean.

"Can I ask you a question?" Joe asked.

"Sure," the Captain said.

"Molly is looking at a new location for her store," Joe said. "It means she's going to be looking for a place to live."

"Do you want to ask her to move in because it's the practical thing to do, or do you want to ask her to move in because you've forgotten what it's like to wake up without her, and you don't want to remember?"

"More the second reason than the first," Joe said.

"Then it's not too soon," Hodges said.

"That's what I was thinking," Joe said, with a grin.

"Molly's good for you. If I were you, I'd be considering making an honest woman out of her."

"It's been a month," Joe said.

"You don't act like it's been a month, and you get shot at on a regular basis," he said, "Do you really want to worry about wasting time because convention tells you to, or do you want to go with what your gut is telling you is right so that if something happens tomorrow, you won't have regrets?"

Joe's radar hadn't been triggered by the Captain's desire to take time off to play with his grandchildren, but talking about regrets? Something was wrong. Hodges was the kind of man who didn't rush anything. He was all about patience. As far as he was concerned, big decisions took time, and consideration whenever possible.

"People are going to think this is a reaction to Stephanie getting married," Joe said.

"It's not though, is it?"

"No," Joe said. "It's not."

"Then fuck what they think," he said. "Now tell me about how you've ruined my precinct."

"Do we really have a garden on the roof?"

"Yeah," the Captain said. "The rookies are in charge of tending to it. I tell them it's a good way to decompress after a shitty day."

"Is it?"

"What do I care? The mayor told me to put a garden on the roof, so I put a garden on the roof and now someone needs to take care of it."

The meeting lasted about an hour, and when Joe left, Joe drove to a jewelry store on the way to the crime scene. He'd already given Molly the keys to his place, and he'd given her a dresser, but he wanted to give her something when he asked her to move in. She wore a lot of bracelets, so he thought he'd look at those. What he found was a gold bangle that looked like a stretched skeleton key. It was simple, pretty and would go nicely with the jewelry she usually wore.

He was paying for the key when he saw the engagement ring.

"It's too soon, Morelli," he said to himself. "One step at a time."

The saleswoman who was helping him sensed blood, opened the case, and pulled out the tray. Joe picked the ring up and felt his blood pressure bottom out before it skyrocketed through the roof. The price tag was way out of impulse buy territory. The ring was made up of a bunch of little pave diamond flowers, with small amethysts in the centers of them. The center stone was a single karat purple sapphire that was nestled into the flowers. It was unusual, a little on the nose, but it was so very Molly. The fact that it wasn't a diamond wouldn't phase her. She'd like the pop of color.

"Can it be resized?" Joe asked.

"Yes," she said. "Easily."

He looked at it again and closed his eyes. He could buy it now, but that didn't mean he had to give it to Molly right away. He could wait until his palms didn't break out into a cold sweat at the thought and then he'd have this perfect ring just waiting for her. The fact that he was thinking in terms of 'when' not 'if' is what actually sold him on the idea.

"Okay," Joe said, "I'll do it."

He handed his credit card over and tried not to go green at the amount being charged on it.

"Goodbye giant television," Joe said.

He put the ring box in his pocket, had the bracelet deposited into a little gift bag, and drove out to the crime scene. He found Buckerson questioning the former manager of the theatre props company about the fail-safes on the murder weapon, a large industrial vacuum molding machine. They were going through crates to see if the missing body was in one of them and were just about finished when Eddie came running up to him.

"Where's the fire?" Joe asked, genially.

"Joe," he said, "You'd better sit down."

"What?"

"There was a gas leak at the Cubed Root," he said. "Molly was inside when the building went up."

"Is she all right?" Joe asked, already moving towards the exit.

"No Joe. The fire is too hot, and they can't…"

He didn't really hear the rest of what Eddie was saying. She was fine. He was just speaking to her... Hours ago now. He called her, and the phone went straight to voicemail. He called her again, and the same thing happened. He called his sister, and she picked up on the third ring, and for one brief moment, there was a jolt of relief.

"Tell me you're with Molly," Joe said.

"No, she sent me home just after she got in at around 10:30," Mary said. "Why? What's happened?"

Joe hung up the phone and tried Molly again. Still just voicemail. Eddie took him out to his Jeep, and he got in the passenger side and had to put the seat back because Molly had moved it forward. She didn't like having the excess leg room because she was short and it made her uncomfortable being all of the way back. Molly was going to bitch about it when she got into the car next. His hands started shaking when he realized that no, she wouldn't. He kept trying her phone, and he kept getting that fucking voicemail. Then finally there was ringing on the other end, "The customer you have reached is not in service, please hang up and try your call again." Another hit of relief cut short.

When they got to the scene, the building was completely engulfed in flames. The fire department was trying to get the fire out, but they couldn't get the gas off. Another explosion went off, and Joe felt it, but he was numb. Too numb to react. The fleet of Rangeman vehicles pulled into the lot a few seconds later. Lester got out of the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, his face was frozen in shock. Ranger got out of the driver's side and he put his hand on Lester's shoulder. Lester shrugged him off and glared at him. It took a second to register why he'd be pissed at Ranger, and then Joe saw red. They monitored everything about her except how often she went to the bathroom, and even then it wouldn't surprise him if they had that recorded somewhere. How could they not know there was a gas leak in her place?

He didn't remember walking to Ranger, he just found himself in front of him, and the adrenaline fueling the rising panic in his stomach, redirected itself to his anger.

"Tell me you're here to tell me she's not in the store. Tell me she's out somewhere and you've pinged her phone," Joe demanded.

"We can't," Ranger said. "The carrier she and JigSaw use is down, and she's not broadcasting a signal."

"Her watch then. What about her watch?"

Ranger handed it to him, "She wanted the GPS upgraded. She gave it to JigSaw last night, and Hector has been working on it."

Ranger took a step back when Joe's fist connected with his jaw, and he didn't blink when Joe went for his gun. Eddie however, did react, and jumped in, taking Joe's weapon from his hand.

"It's not his fault Joe," Eddie said. "It's an old building, and according to her neighbor at the diner, she'd been having problems with the Air Conditioning. She'd been working from the restaurant because it was too hot in the store. She probably didn't even realize there was a problem."

"Why didn't you warn her? Why didn't you tell her there was a gas leak?" Joe demanded, ignoring Eddie. "How could you not be watching for that?"

"We didn't detect a leak," Ranger said. "Or we would have had someone on it. What do you know Gazzerra?"

"She took a client at around 11:30, and the meeting lasted for about half an hour to forty-five minutes. She went back to the store and then got into the car with JigSaw about ten minutes later. We have multiple witnesses to that. About twenty minutes ago, the Cutlass came back to the lot, and Molly got out of the car, went into the store, and a minute later it went up. The secondary explosion took out the car."

"The witnesses are sure it was Molly?" Ranger said.

"Same clothes, same hair, but they only saw her from behind so the identification isn't 100%. We're going to need dental records or DNA to confirm," Eddie said. "But her hair is pretty distinctive, and JigSaw doesn't exactly blend in."

Joe's legs went out from under him then, and he sat down hard on the pavement. He was aware of a paramedic putting a blanket around his shoulders, and checking his blood pressure. Lester had yet to utter a word, he just sat down next to Joe, and put his hand on Joe's shoulder, in the same gesture of comfort Ranger had attempted to offer Lester a few minutes ago. It was the first time they'd interacted since Joe took Molly home from the wedding. And it was over this?

He didn't know how long he sat there watching the fire. He saw Molly's neighbor, Kim talking to someone. She was crying, and he heard Eddie tell Ranger that she was the one who saw Molly go into the store. It wasn't a stranger who'd witnessed it. It was a friend. The last bit of hope, that maybe it wasn't her, was gone. He couldn't breathe, and from the way Lester was suddenly very still, he was thinking the same thing. This was real. This was happening. And the last thing Joe had done was to cancel his lunch date with her. If he hadn't, she'd be alive.

"Holy fuck," Lester said, and jumped to his feet and sprinted across the parking lot. It felt like Joe was watching everything from outside of his own body, as Lester wrenched opened the passenger door of a black Cutlass, and hauled one of the occupants out of it, before engulfing her in a hug that almost hid her from view. Joe was on his feet and moving, before his brain fully registered that he was looking at Molly.

"We thought you were inside," Lester said.

"No," Molly said. "I… I was with JigSaw and Tony looking at a new…We were on our way back when we saw the trucks, and where the smoke was coming from and thought it was the paper place."

Joe shoved Lester aside and kissed Molly like he was starving, and then he crushed her in his arms.

"I love you," he said. "I thought I'd lost you before I could tell you."

There was another burst of flames from the store, and Molly clung to Joe for support.

"Why can't they stop that from happening?" She asked.

"There's a problem with the emergency cut-off valve," Eddie said. "They can't get it to stay closed. The explosions are basically like turning up the gas on a barbecue."

"Can you help?" Ranger asked her, and Lester. "Is there something either of you can rig to fix it?"

"Do I look like fucking MacGyver?" Lester said. Ranger looked like he was thinking about smacking Lester but refrained.

"I don't know," Molly said, "I've never really looked at it. I... I can't believe this is happening."

She clung a little tighter to Joe, staring in disbelief, at the fire. "I'll go see if there's something I can do to help," Lester said.

He left them and went to speak to the fire chief, and he showed Lester something on a screen. Ten minutes later there was a cheer from in front of the store, and they started extinguishing the fire. Lester jogged back to the group looking smug. "I should change my name to Angus. What do you think? Angus MacSantos?"

Ranger cocked an eyebrow, and Lester put his hands up in supplication. "I was kidding. Do NOT tell Steph I said that."

While normally that sort of thing would make Molly laugh, she wasn't saying anything. She was pale and refusing to let go of Joe. When she failed to gang up on Lester, with Ranger, Lester's smile vanished, and he looked like he wanted to be the one, protecting her. There was no way that was happening. Joe wasn't going to let her go.

"You don't need to be here to watch this," Lester said, "We'll go back to my place, and…"

"I'm sorry," Eddie interrupted, "but she does need to be here. I need her to ask some questions."

"Now?" Lester said. "Are you serious?"

"He's just doing his job," Molly said. She turned around to face Eddie. She wiped her tears on the back of her hands and then took one of Lester's hands in her own, and leaned against Joe holding Joe's arms around her with her free hand. "Ask me what you need to know Eddie. I'm okay."

"Who was in the store?" Eddie asked.

"Nobody," Molly said. "My power went out, so I locked up the shop and went to Joe's house to work. Then I had a meeting with a guy about a new venue. Rangeman should have footage of whoever was in there, though."

"We don't," Ranger said.

"What?" She asked.

"When the power surge took out your electric, it shorted out your cameras."

"Again?" She said. "That's the second time; I thought we shielded for that after that other one failed during that electrical storm?"

"So did I," Ranger said. "When the cameras went down, you'd already gone with JigSaw, so I sent a car around to make sure nothing was going on with the building. The camera looked fried, but there was no evidence of tampering, so I put your store on the repair schedule. When you have a minute, I want you to look at the new surge protectors we have installed with the cameras at the other properties. If I need to do a recall and replace them, I want to do it sooner rather than later."

"I inspected mine when you installed it. It would have had to have been a significant power surge to cause the unit to fail. Are they sure that it was a gas fire? Might it have started as an electrical fire?"

"It's early to say, but the fire department thinks it's gas. Have you had problems with leaks?" Eddie asked.

"No," she said. "But in February my furnace quit on me. It wasn't terrific to begin with, but it stopped altogether. I called my landlord's brother-in-law, who was acting as Super while my landlord was on vacation. He called in a furnace guy, who said that the furnace was dangerously not up to code. The furnace guy reported it to the fire marshal, and there was an inspection done on the building. There was a lot of work in the basement, but I don't have access to it, so I don't know what they did. My Landlord was furious that his brother-in-law had called someone in though. Especially when the fire marshal demanded that my other appliances get inspected. The oven didn't pass, and some guy came in and replaced a bunch of parts."

"How did your landlord feel about that?"

"He wasn't happy. He told his brother-in-law that there was a trick to the furnace and if he'd followed instructions my landlord wouldn't be out thousands of dollars."

"He tried to up her rent a few weeks ago, after doing some work in the basement," Joe said.

"Do you know if they put a new unit in, in February?" Eddie asked.

"I don't," Molly said. "I don't have access to the room, and I was staying with Lester while they did the repairs."

"They didn't," Ranger said. "There were repairs done, we have the crew on camera, but they didn't replace it. We'd have seen it if he did."

"Are you sure about that? You didn't detect the gas leak," Joe said.

"That's because there was no leak," the fire chief said, as he approached them. "I'm going to have to contact an arson investigator. The reason we couldn't get the gas valve closed was that someone had tampered with it."

"Do you monitor the alley beside the store?" Eddie asked Ranger.

"No," Ranger said. "We were going to install cameras there, but her landlord objected. We could mount in the store and the parking lot, but not the alley."

"Is that unusual?" Eddie asked.

"Yes," Ranger said.

"Did you suspect something?"

"We put a man on him. He likes to bring working girls into the alley on his lunch break," Ranger said. "JigSaw clears the alley before Molly goes into the store in the mornings, and watches it while she's inside. If her landlord brings someone around, JigSaw logs it, and a physical description of the working girl."

"Does the landlord use anyone in special?" Eddie asked.

"He's not particularly discerning," JigSaw said.

"Has he been back there recently?" Ranger asked.

"This morning," JigSaw said.

"In this heat?" Molly said incredulously.

"With a woman who, from a distance, would look a lot like you," JigSaw said.

"I really didn't need to know that, Jiggy," Molly said.

"Don't call me that," he growled and everyone took a slight step back. Except for Molly. She just glared at him.

"You asked for it buddy. I'm having a shitty day, and you just put that thought into my mind. Like I don't have enough things in my head I wish I could unthink?" Molly snapped.

Molly, as it turned out, went into fight mode when she was upset. That she was picking a fight with a guy who was probably completely without a conscience probably wasn't a good idea. Lester and Ranger exchanged a look, and if Joe had to guess, they were doing a mental Rock Paper Scissors match to determine who was going to intervene.

Thankfully Lester's phone chose that moment to ring, and it distracted everyone. He answered it and handed the phone to Molly.

"Dad," he said, "He's at the airport; he's on his way."

And with that, the fight left, and she looked like she was trying not to cry.

She answered the phone and walked away from Joe to take the call. Lester went to join her, and he hugged his sister from behind while she spoke to their father.

"How the fuck does this happen?" Joe asked. "On your watch."

"He has never been a threat before, and we had no reason to suspect that he tampered with anything."

"You didn't think he'd become one when she was the cause for thousands of dollars of repairs?" Joe asked. "Or after the threats to increase her rent?"

"I'm just hearing about the rent now," Ranger said.

"How the fuck is that possible? I've known about it for weeks, and you hear every word that's said in that store."

"Despite what you might believe, I don't have the time to spend all day watching my cousin arrange flowers. I don't personally monitor every conversation she has."

"She has an active threat against her!" Joe shouted.

"Which is why she has JigSaw following her everywhere she goes, and I've got teams watching the heliport, Brasseau's condo, and his parent's place in Paris. Every person who has walked through those doors since she told me about her problems with Lucien has been logged and anyone who spends more than five minutes browsing, or returns to the store even once is submitted to a background check. I spend as much money watching her back as I do on Stephanie, more now that Steph lives with me. So don't think for a second that I'm not taking this threat seriously.

Her landlord has been taking prostitutes into that alley since long before Molly moved to that rat trap, and occasionally hiring a prostitute that looks like her is only mildly more deviant than if he were to fantasize about her while he whacks off in the shower. He doesn't harass her, he is usually prompt about making repairs when there are problems, and bitching about upping her rent on a single occasion is more of an indicator of a guy having a shitty day than it is of a homicidal disposition. And you know that, or you would have had a word with him a few weeks ago when she brought it to your attention.

Now pull your head out of your ass, and think. Molly's air-conditioning and power were cut off on the hottest day of the year, making working conditions in her store unbearable. None of the other units had problems, just hers. This gas leak and explosion didn't happen until after she was gone. If this was her landlord, he was aiming for insurance fraud, not premeditated murder."

"What was the point of the decoys?" Joe asked. "Why send people who look like Molly and JigSaw into the store, just before the explosion?"

"And that's what you should really be asking."

Ranger fished his phone out of his pocket, opened what looked like a navigation app. He zoomed in on a screen until he had a close up of a silhouette of a nondescript business tower. There were at least a dozen pink dots scattered throughout the building, most of them concentrated in one spot on the top floor. He closed the app, and put his phone back in his pocket and then looked over at Molly. "We've managed to keep Steph alive, despite her best efforts to bring the most fucked up shit imaginable her way. Molly's smart, co-operative, and usually actively tries to avoid confrontation. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep her safe."

Joe nodded and looked at Molly. She was leaning against Lester, tears streaming down her face, as she spoke to her dad. Every single time Joe'd been in a similar situation with Stephanie, his heart had jumped into his throat, and when he saw her afterward, there'd been relief, anger, and eventually acceptance. With Molly, it was difficult to shake. It wasn't just because he loved her more than he'd loved anyone. He could see it in Ranger's face too.

"She didn't sign up for this shit," Ranger said.

That was exactly it. Yes it was rat trap building, and Molly hardly spent anytime there outside of work now, but it was her place. It was her memories, good and bad, that were up in flames. She wasn't used to it. She wasn't resigned to being afraid. Someone trying to kill her wasn't part of her job.

"Sorry about the jaw," Joe said.

"You've hit me harder," Ranger said. "Pull your gun on me again, and I'll have to do something about it."

"You owe me one for when you almost shot me in Florida."

"You fractured my brand new fiancee's cheek," Ranger said.

"And I just thought you let Molly get blown up," Joe said. "And Stephanie walked into that punch, and we both know it. I'd say we're even."

"Which is why I didn't do anything this time."

"We should probably consider using our words to communicate," Joe said.

"I've always found that nonverbal communication is just as effective at getting the point across," Ranger said.

Joe chuckled, "Beer is on me, this time."

"I'm going to need a raincheck; I haven't slept in almost 48 hours. I'm going home after we're done here," Ranger said. "Her insurance company is going to drag its heels about this payout. If I give her some money so she can replace some of her stuff, are you going to be a pain in her ass about it?"

"No," Joe said.

"I'm also going to offer her an apartment at Rangeman until she finds something else and it would make my life a lot easier if you supported this," Ranger said.

"That's not going to be necessary," Joe said. "I was going to ask her to move in with me tonight, anyway."

"Get used to Lester dropping by," Ranger said.

"Lester I can handle; I might even avoid pissing him off," Joe said.

"No, by all means, piss him off. It's good for him," Ranger said. "He needs a new alias for a job he has to do in a few weeks. I fully intend to name that alias Angus MacSantos."

At that Joe smiled, "Are you going to put up her dad, or am I?"

"Javi will stay with my grandmother," Ranger said.

They watched Molly hand the phone back to Lester, and then Ranger walked away from Joe and placed a hand on Molly's shoulder. She turned to look up at him, and to everyone's surprise, he hugged her and whispered something to her. Molly nodded and hugged him back before he helped her get back to Joe. She was limping a little, and Joe popped the trunk of the Jeep so she could sit in the back and watch the fire. Joe leaned on the edge of the trunk and patted the spot next to him. Molly sat down and put her head on his shoulder.

Ranger took Lester with him to go speak to the police, and for a minute, she and Joe were alone. "What did Ranger say to you just now?"

"I'm glad you're not dead," she said. "He's a surprisingly good hugger. I didn't expect that."

"You're not allowed to develop a crush on your married cousin. At least not that married cousin," Joe teased, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"That's not going to be a problem," Molly said. "Look at him and now look at Lester. Could you be attracted to a woman who looked as much like your sister as Lester and Ric look alike?"

"No," he said, "That would be weird."

"Exactly," Molly said. Joe put his arm around her and moved so she could snuggle closer if that's what she wanted. She took the invitation, and he shifted back so she could sit on his lap.

The bag from the jewelry store was sitting next to her, but she didn't see it. Not that she'd know what it was. It was a nondescript white shopping bag. It looked like it was from a bakery, and Molly wasn't a comfort eater so the bag would hold no interest.

"I know it seems hopeless right now, but you'd be surprised what you can recover from a fire," Joe said.

"It's… It's not that," she said. "It's stupid. It's something I've been thinking about all day, and this has just made it worse."

"What?" Joe asked.

"I got asked to Homecoming when I was a Freshman, by this friend of Lester's. He was really cute, and I'd had a crush on him pretty much my whole life. Mom was really sick then, and her treatments were expensive, but she took me dress shopping. There was this dress there, that I knew was too expensive, but I couldn't take my eyes off of it, and I tried on about a million different dresses, but I kept coming back to that one. Mom made me try it on, and then she bought it for me. I was so excited. It was this shocking pink Betsy Johnson thing, and it just made me so fucking happy. A week before the dance, mom had a massive seizure, and she was gone twenty-four hours later. There was no way I was going to be going to the dance, the dress was wasted, and I knew money was tight, but there was a no refund policy. I couldn't sleep knowing that we'd wasted money we could really use on a dress that I couldn't even look at without feeling this horrible burning in my stomach every time I did.

Even with everything that was going on, the problems with my custody, all of it, I was fixated on that, and I couldn't live with it."

"What did you do?" Joe asked.

"I went to the store with the dress and spoke to the manager. I told him what had happened, and I begged him to let me return it. He said he could exchange it. He helped me find something for mom's funeral and refunded the rest of the dress. He was very nice about it," she said. "The doctor said that I fixated on the dress because the loss of mom and the knowledge that I couldn't stay with my family was too much for me to handle at that moment. I needed something I could control. That's why exchanging the dress made me feel better."

"And that's what you're thinking about?" Joe asked.

"It's like that," she said. "I don't even know why I just told you all of that, but I'm sitting here watching this happen, and I can't wrap my head around it. I know I have all of this stuff I have to do. I've lost most of my clothes, a lot of my designs, all of my pictures of my mother, it's all gone. I'm fucking homeless, and I can't stop thinking about something that doesn't matter at all like it's the most important thing in the world, and I feel so fucking shallow, but I can't get it out of my head."

"Want to share what it is?" Joe asked.

"I miss my purple hair," she said and burst into tears. "It's so stupid, but it's something I know I can get back, and I want it. I want it so badly. It shouldn't be this important, in light of everything, but it is, and I think it's like the damned dress and..." the rest of it was muffled by Joe's shirt, as she cried into his chest, unable to look at the store anymore. Joe rubbed her back and held her just a little tighter.

"Was your phone inside?"

"No," she said, "It's in my purse, in JigSaw's car. But it's useless; I have no service anywhere."

He kissed her forehead and handed her the bag from the jewelry store. The ring was still in his pocket.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"It's not food," he said and shifted her off of his lap, "Open it."

He left her to do that and went to JigSaw's car to get her purse. He brought her bag back to her, and held it out to her, with his phone. She didn't take it right away because she was holding the bracelet.

"It's beautiful," she said. "What's the occasion?"

"Make an appointment to get your hair done," he said. "It was sexy, and I liked it. Look up the number on your phone, and use mine to make the call."

"Okay, but after, will you tell me what this is for?" He nodded. She called her stylist and booked an appointment for the next day. When she was finished, she looked at him expectantly. He took the bracelet from her and resisted the urge to get the ring out of his pocket. Proposing now was a knee-jerk reaction, and he knew it. He wanted to wait until the time was right, and her face wasn't streaked with tears. He put the bracelet on her left wrist, with her watch, and kissed her.

"This was going to be for something else, but now…Molly, I have seen a lot, and I've been through a lot. You have to be detached. You have to shut it all off and get to the scene and do your job. I couldn't do that today. I was standing there at one of Stephanie's fucked up crime scenes, and Eddie came to get me, and I couldn't do anything. I just couldn't function. So I have a problem."

"What's that?" she asked.

"I realized how much I can't lose you," he said, "I'm going to need to know you are someplace safe tonight."

"Ric will put me in one of his apartments," she said. "I was going to ask him to do it anyway since I'm homeless now."

"Well that would be a good idea, but there are a couple of big flaws with it," Joe said.

"What's are they?"

"I'm going to need to keep you close tonight so that I can reassure myself that you're not a dream. So that I don't have to be afraid of waking up to realize that you were in that store."

She put her hand on his cheek, and he brushed her hair off of her face.

"Ric would let you stay with me," she said, "He's not completely heartless."

Joe turned his head and kissed her hand before he took it off of his cheek and held it in both of his.

"Which leads me to the next problem. There's a pretty good chance we're going to have sex tonight. You're going to want it to make you feel better, and I'm going to want it for that whole reassurance thing. Somehow, I just don't think you're going to be able to concentrate knowing that my ex, your cousin, and your brother are all under the same roof."

Molly pulled a face, "I hadn't thought of that."

"And what if I felt inspired to do that thing I was telling you about, now that you are out of your cast? You wouldn't be able to enjoy it because you'd be too worried about getting loud and having Lester break down the door to kill me."

"Keep that trick up your sleeve for a little longer," she said, with a weak grin. "I don't want to associate it with this."

"We're still going to have sex tonight, and I like making you get loud."

"Can I sleep over then?"

"Well that's what the key is for," he said. "I was going to ask you to move in with Bob and me, and I was going to give you that since you already have a set of keys."

"And now?" Molly asked.

"The whole idea of asking you to live with us is crazy because you already do," Joe said. "That key is to remind you that when we leave here, you're not going to stay at my place, you're going home."

She kissed him and wound her arms around his neck. "I love you so much," she said. "I know I freaked out when I said it before, but I need you to know that even though it was an accident when I said it before, I really meant it. I do love you."

"I love you too, Molly," he said. "Let me take you home. If they need to ask us more questions they can do it there. You don't need to be here anymore."

He helped her around to the front of the Jeep and personally buckled her in. "I'm not helpless, Joe," she said.

"I know," he said, "But I need to see to it that you're safe."

She kissed his cheek, and he went back to speak to Ranger. "I'm taking her home. I want someone on the street tonight, and I want to be notified immediately if Brasseau comes around."

"I can promise you the men," Ranger said. He was right, non-verbal communication was effective. If any of Ranger's men saw Lucien anywhere near Molly today, it would probably be quite some time before Joe was notified. If he was notified at all.

"Thanks," Joe said.


	13. Chapter 13

**_AN: I'm back... sorta! So I disappeared because my wrist was killing me, and even editing on my phone was getting bad. It turns out that I have a torn flexor tendon in my elbow, and that's why my wrist was so fucked up. I've been in a splint up until just this past Monday (pointlessly as it turns out, but whatever) and my physiotherapist has finally given me the go-ahead to get back to writing. Since that's basically what I do, it's a relief. There are conditions though, one of which is cutting back on how much time I spend on the computer. Irrelevantly, I'm also not allowed to sleep with bent arms. Yes, that is as difficult as it sounds, and yes, I probably look really uncomfortable, awkward and weird while I try. The upshot of spending less time in front of my computer is that I will be focusing on Molly because it's in the editing stages and doesn't require as much typing as Saturday. But fear not, I am not abandoning Saturday. I overheard a conversation yesterday that was so assinine that I wished Lula was real so she could tell the people having it to pull their heads out of their asses, and now my muse is fired up to get back to work on Saturday. Thank you for your patience, your reviews, and for following this story._**

 ** _As a quick recap for those who might want it, when we last saw our lovebirds, Molly was thinking of moving her store out of the crappy industrial park, when her store was blown up. Everyone thought she was inside because there were decoys in the store at the time of the explosion. Meanwhile, Joe had bought Molly a bracelet to give her when he asked her to move in and talked himself into buying an engagement ring while he was at it. He gave her the bracelet and she agreed to live with him. Lucien is missing, and should probably stay that way because Lester and Ranger are feeling inclined towards making his disappearance permanent, but in a very slow and painful way._**

Angie was waiting for them at the front door when they got home. She had mobilized the Mother's Emergency Service in the Burg, and she had filled the refrigerator with casseroles, baked goods, and bottles of wine. The house was absolutely spotless, the laundry that was in the dryer was pressed and folded, and Bob had been walked and fed, and was asleep on the sofa.

Molly got out of the car, and Angie, unable to help herself, ran down the front steps to Molly and wrapped her in an enormous hug. Molly burst into tears, and Angie brought her into the house. Bob forwent his usual exuberant greeting, and followed Molly and Angie upstairs, leaving Joe at loose ends.

After a while, he heard the shower running, and his mother came downstairs. She made a cup of tea, took some cookies from the cookie jar, and brought them upstairs. Joe knew better than to follow. Angie was mothering Molly and he would be punished for interfering. Half an hour later, Joe had just taken a beer out of the fridge, when his mother came down with the dishes and some of the cookies.

"Molly's having a rest," she said and then promptly walked over to Joe and took the beer out of his hand. She went to the sink and dumped the contents of the bottle down the drain.

"What the hell?" Joe demanded.

"You do not drink when you're very upset. That is how you become an alcoholic."

"I'm relieved that she's alive and pissed off that someone blew up her store," Joe said. "Upset doesn't quite cover it."

"Do you know how I knew that something was wrong? Mary phoned me to tell me that you called, looking for Molly, and you sounded shaken. So I called the station, and they told me that the store blew up and that she was in it. Now obviously that wasn't the case, so what's going on?"

"When I called Mary, that's what we thought had happened," Joe said. "One of Molly's neighbor's told us she saw Molly go inside. Molly knows this woman well, so we figured she would know if it was Molly."

"She saw Molly's face?" Angie asked.

"No she said she had the same hair, was wearing the same clothes, was the same height and build, etc."

"It would take a lot more than that to mistake someone for Molly," Angie said.

"From across the parking lot, probably not."

"Molly doesn't move like an American," Angie said. "She moves with the same insouciance that you can only get from living in Paris for an extended period of time."

"Insouciance?" Joe said with a smirk. "That's not a word you hear used every day."

"I like it," Angie said. "It's one of my favorite words. Whenever I see or hear it used I think of it as a sort of saucy indifference, and it's the first word I thought of when I met Molly."

"Molly is far from indifferent," Joe said.

"I know she's not," she said. "It's just… It's difficult to describe. It's not confidence; it's more like disregard. You know that when she gets up in the morning, she gets dressed and she takes pride in her appearance, but it's for her and unapologetically so. She's not looking for approval; it's as though she says, 'Oh you like the way I look? You're welcome. Oh, you don't? Oh well, we have different taste.'

And it's not defiance, it's just a fact, and not one that's going to make her lose sleep at night. And of course she has insecurities because she's human, but… oh well, I'm not explaining it properly. It's not something that can be faked, and _I_ think it's a very French thing, and you don't see it a lot in American women."

"Molly was born in New Jersey."

"Yes, but she learned how to be a woman in Paris," Angie said.

Joe shot her a look, and Angie rolled her eyes, "Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Actually, my mind isn't in the gutter; I was just thinking that it's a good thing you approve of Molly's sense of style."

"I think she wears clothes that I wouldn't necessarily buy, but she does things quite tastefully. Why?"

"I'm taking her to get her hair colored tomorrow. She's dying it purple."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Angie said.

"I'm not," Joe said, "She had purple hair right up until the divorce was finalized and then she changed it because she felt like that part of her life was over, and wanted to start a new chapter. She realized that she doesn't miss that life, but she misses the purple hair, and she wants to have it back."

"That's not what I meant," Angie said, "I mean the idea that _you're_ going to sit around a beauty parlor for the hours it is going to take for Molly to get her hair cut, colored, styled, and everything else she's going to want to have done; it's utterly ridiculous. Where is she going?"

Joe pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked through the call history. He found the number for the beauty parlor in his call history. "A place called Spacation. Why?"

"Because I'll be taking her to get her hair done so she doesn't have to be worried about you sitting around getting bored. Give me your phone."

Joe handed her the phone, and she called the spa, to book several treatments for herself, around the hair appointment. While she did that, Joe went upstairs to check on Molly. Molly was in bed, and Bob was next to her. She was awake, absently stroking Bob's ears. Bob was asleep, with a look of utter bliss on his face.

"Traitor," Joe said.

"Me or him?" Molly asked.

"Him," Joe said. "He didn't even say, 'hi,' to me."

"I was crying," Molly said, "And he's a sensitive soul."

Joe got onto the bed and rolled onto his side. He brushed the hair off of Molly's face, and then put his and on her hip. Bob thumped his tail on the bed, happy that he was now being cuddled by two people he loved.

"Mom is going to take you to the beauty parlor tomorrow. Apparently, I'm not allowed," Joe said.

Molly grinned, "I really couldn't see you sitting there for four hours without wanting to shove needles into your eyes."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," she said.

"Smartass," he said, "You don't mention female friends from France. Why is that?"

"I didn't really have any. There were the guy's girlfriends occasionally, but for the most part, I was the token girl. Why?"

"Who else was in the group?"

"Besides Lucien and me, there was Max Doisneaux, Cyrille Mesny, and Cédric Allard. There were a few others, but that was the group that stuck together all through college?"

"And they were all Lucien's friends first?"

"No, Max was more my friend than Lucien's. Well, they'd known each other since they were children but they became close because of me. Initially, before Lucien started spreading the crap he was spreading, Max was on my side."

"Why did he defect?"

"He had a fight with Lucien. I don't mean an argument, I mean an actual fight, and afterward, Max wouldn't speak to me again."

"Did you ever get the impression that Max wished you were more than friends?"

"No," Molly said. "Why?"

"I'm trying to get some sense as to who might have been in the store," Joe said. "I thought maybe it was someone you knew."

Molly shook her head. "Are you going to continue investigating?"

"I don't know what's going to happen now," Joe said. "I may not be allowed to stay on the investigation."

"Why?"

"Because you're living with me," he said, "I'm too close to it. IAB will probably get involved."

"You're not going to be in trouble are you?"

"Nothing like that," Joe said, "It's procedure. If I'm taken off of the case, then they will probably give it to Eddie, and he'll keep me updated."

"Okay," Molly said. "What happens now?"

"Now, you deal with the insurance company, and decide if you want to try again with the flower shop."

"I want to Joe," she said. "I love it, and I've already signed the lease on the new space. I was going to call you to tell you."

"Even though you were afraid to talk to me because you told me you love me?"

"I forgot," Molly said. Joe leaned over Bob and kissed Molly. Bob gave him a shove with his paw, and Joe shoved him back.

"Easy, buddy. I saw her first, and I called dibs," Joe said.

Bob barked at him, playfully, and shoved him again, this time with both paws.

"I don't think Bob recognizes dibs," Molly said.

"I'll leave you to your nap," Joe said.

"Why do I need one, exactly?" Molly asked.

"Because you're tired from the emotional strain," Joe said. "I'm not allowed to have a beer for the same reason. When mom's like this, it's always better to do what she says."

Molly yawned and closed her eyes. "I feel like a kid who's been sent for a nap."

"And when you send a kid for a nap, how often do they need it?"

"Always," Molly conceded. "Would you laugh at me if I told you I wasn't tired."

"I'll watch tv with you," Joe said. Ten minutes later, Molly was out cold, and Bob was on his back in a state of deep sleep that Joe only ever saw babies and dogs reach. The kind that made him jealous, because he was positive that he never slept that deeply anymore. He was tempted to join them, but the doorbell killed that plan. Bob didn't even twitch.

Joe went downstairs just as Eddie, Lester, and Captain Hodges were being admitted to the house by Angie.

"Where's Molly?" Lester asked.

"Upstairs cuddling Bob, and resting," Joe said. He led them into the living room and offered them drinks. They declined, and they all took seats on the sectional. Joe pulled a chair from the dining room and sat on it, facing them.

"I'm glad to hear that Molly is all right," Hodges said. "I told my wife, and I think she's organizing a bunch of the wives, to join Molly and Angie at the spa tomorrow for moral support."

"I think there will be shopping too," Angie said. "She's going to need new clothes, and…"

"My wife, Alison is organizing a collection for that very reason," Hodges said. "Just enough to tide her over until the insurance comes in."

"Oh that's wonderful," Angie said.

"Well, Alison, and Eddie's wife, Shirley, both like Molly a lot so they will do what they do to help her get back on her feet."

"A lot of her clothes and jewelry were here already," Joe said. "This place is fully furnished, so I don't really see what she needs on short notice."

"I said the same thing," Hodges said, "And I was informed that I don't know anything."

"She'll be grateful for what she has left," Angie said, "But there will be lots of little things that you don't know about at her place that were important to her but thought it would be presumptuous to move in here."

"My wife also pointed out that all of her high heels are probably lost," Eddie said.

"That's absolutely right. She's been stuck in that hideous air cast for a month. She won't have brought her heels over," Angie said.

"She has exactly one pair upstairs. She brought her lucky shoes home yesterday because she wanted to wear them if she got the okay to ditch her cast," Joe said.

"What color are they?"

"Grey suede."

"That's really not enough, dear," Angie said. "Anyway, I'll call Alison and Shirley to see how the collection is coming along. I may know some more people who would be willing to help out. Tiffany Northman's house got flooded and she lost a ton of stuff and it took the insurance company ages to come through with the money."

She went to the back of the house, to the kitchen, and Joe waited for the captain to tell him what he already knew. He was off of the case.

"I've spoken to IAB already," Hodges said. "Eddie is taking over as the lead detective on the case, but the Feds are overseeing everything from this point on."

"Because the stalking crosses state lines?" Joe asked.

"The fraud is going to be their main focus," Hodges said. "They are sending a team to look into this, but they've warned me that this isn't going to be over in twenty-four hours. They are bringing in white-collar guys to look at the fraud angles, someone else for the arson investigation, and someone to look into Brasseau. They are going to treat all of the different aspects of the investigation as separate animals at the moment. Eddie is going to be working the Brasseau angle, and you're going to be floating between groups to help them with the big picture."

"I'm allowed to keep working the case?"

"You don't handle evidence, and you don't interrogate witnesses without the Fed's approval."

"What else?"

"IAB wants you to take two weeks paid leave, effective immediately, to get your head right, and you're to sit down with a shrink at some point during that time."

"I don't need to sit with a shrink," Joe said.

"It's not a request," Hodges said. "They are worried about you throwing another chair through a window."

"That was a one-time thing," Joe said, referring to what he did when he found out that Stephanie was getting married. "I hadn't slept in forever and nobody got hurt."

"You were lucky," Hodges said. "You're sitting with a shrink. He just needs to make sure you're not going to summarily execute Brasseau if you bump into him on the street." There was a long pause as they digested that, and Joe thought that by that Metric, everyone on the force as well as Half of Rangeman should be seeing a shrink that week. It's one thing to go after a Cop, that was bad enough, but to go after his family? Hell no. That shit didn't fly at all.

"Okay," Joe said. "What else?"

"Does Molly have any idea who might have been in the store?" Eddie asked.

"None," Joe said. "There is something else. Mom made a point about Molly that made a lot of sense. It was a friend who made the tentative ID. How certain was she?"

"She was 100% positive," Eddie said. "She said the woman was wearing the same outfit that Molly was earlier, only she'd added a duster."

"A duster?" Joe asked.

Eddie pulled out his notepad and looked at it. "She was wearing a grey jersey knit dress, and a pretty, sheer, yellow, long-sleeved duster. When I asked why she would wear something long sleeved in this heat, Kim said because Molly has fair skin, she'd need to protect it from the sun."

"Molly hates yellow," Lester and Joe said at the same time.

"What?" Eddie said.

"She doesn't hate it; she just doesn't wear it," Joe corrected.

"She says it makes her feel heavy," Lester said. "She never wears it unless it's a small detail on her clothes."

"Okay then," Eddie said. "I don't know why that's important."

"I don't know either, but it might be," Joe said, "But that's not what I was getting at; we don't need to prove that Molly wasn't in the store, because it obviously wasn't her. It was someone who could pass for Molly from a distance. What I was getting at is what my mom pointed out. Molly may be from Jersey, but she's not Jersey."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"He's right," Lester said. "Molly didn't just pick up an accent living in Europe. There are mannerisms, the way she walks, how she wears her clothes. You'd see it if you watched her beside women like Connie or Stephanie."

"Would it be obvious from across the parking lot, and a short walk to the store?" Hodges asked.

"Yes," Joe said, "Absolutely."

"We need to speak to the witness again," Eddie said.

"This could narrow the field a lot," Hodges said.

"We should look into missing women who fit Molly's description, but have spent significant time in Europe," Joe said.

"Why the duster?" Lester asked. "There has to be a reason for it. To hide something distinctive or to make sure she caught the eye as she walked into the store? And if a duster is what I think it is, it's like a long lightweight jacket. If the witness only saw this woman from behind, how did she know that the victim was wearing the same dress as Molly? Molly's dress was pretty short, it would be hidden by the duster."

"Would you go with Eddie to speak to Kim again?" Joe asked, Lester. "She knows you. She might respond better to you."

"Yep," Lester said.

"We'll go now," Eddie said.

They left, and Joe's mother emerged from the kitchen to walk them out. Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring box. "I need a favor."

"What?" Hodges asked.

"Put this in my desk at the station. It's burning a hole in my pocket."

He handed Hodges the ring box. Hodges opened it and looked at the ring. "Don't wait too long."

"I won't," Joe said. "But six hours ago my palms were sweaty just thinking about that ring. Now it's all I can do not to go upstairs and put it on her finger. I want to make sure the urge isn't just a reaction to all of this. I want the moment to be right."

"I'll put it in my desk before I head home, that way you have to ask for it, to get it."

"You don't have to go out of your way," Joe said. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"My wife is like a bloodhound trained to sniff out diamonds," Hodges said, "She'll know I have it on me before I get out of the car."

Joe grinned.

"The second you put this on Molly's finger, you're off the case," Hodges said.

"I know," Joe said.

"You shouldn't even be working it now, and the only reason I'm allowing it is because I know you're going to anyway," Hodges said. "So let Eddie do the heavy lifting."

"Yes sir," Joe said. Hodges got to his feet, and Joe walked him to the door.

"Alison wants you and Molly over for dinner again on Thursday," Hodges said.

"Thursday?"

"We have the grandkids again on the weekend," Hodges said.

"Ah," Joe said. "That's good anyway. Molly and I have another ball game to go to on Saturday."

"Have fun," Hodges said.

"We will," Joe said. "It should be easier since we have no crutches to worry about, and box seats so there's a private bathroom. She doesn't need to leave my sight and Lucien won't have any opportunities to approach us.

Lester came back to the house two hours after Hodges left. "Kim's changed her story. Now she's saying that she remembered thinking that the duster would look weird with the dress Molly was wearing earlier, but if anyone could pull it off, it would be Molly."

"But she didn't actually see the dress."

"That's correct," Lester said, "But she did say that she was absolutely positive it was Molly, and she's finding it difficult to believe that Molly's alive. The woman got out of the car the same way Molly did; she had the same slight slouch Molly has; she held her bag the way Molly does. Either the victim studied Molly well enough to know her movements, but not well enough to know about the yellow, or…"

"She's from wherever Molly picked up the slouch."

"Yes," Lester said. "It's probably Paris, but Molly lived all over Europe, and she's good at fitting in. Why the hell do you think she has the accent that she won't drop?"

"I don't think that's a choice," Joe said.

"Maybe not," Lester said. "Still."

Molly came downstairs, wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. She walked to the sofa and flopped down on it.

"Where's Bob?" Joe asked.

"In the middle of the bed, snoring his head off," Molly said. She picked up the remote and turned on the game. She cuddled up next to Joe and pulled a blanket off of the back of the sofa, and then promptly went back to sleep.

"She slept a lot after Lucien broke up with her," Lester said. "And after mom died."

"Grief is exhausting," Joe said.

The game was ending when Molly stirred again, looking for food. They were eating dinner when Joe got called into the station. They wanted him to fill out some paperwork, and the Feds wanted a briefing on everything he knew so far. He wanted to leave Molly like he wanted a hole in the head, but she was safe with Lester and Angie, and this needed to get done quickly.

While he was at the station, he pulled together a mugshot book of anyone busted for solicitation since Molly moved into the Cubed Root. He wanted JigSaw to identify every pro he saw in the alley with Molly's landlord. It was possible that the victim was one of them.

The house was dark, but the kitchen light was on. Molly was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a photo album. "What's that?"

"Dad must have been here," Molly said. "It's a bunch of family pictures."

She found one of her with Lester, and Ranger when they were kids. The three of them were on the beach, behind a big sand castle mountain. Molly was in the middle, and Ranger and Lester each had an arm around her. Molly was about five.

"Where were you in this picture?"

"Castaway Key," Molly said. "There was a Manoso family reunion on a Disney Cruise."

"I thought you didn't get along with Ranger?"

"He had his moments," Molly said. "That day he caught some kids knocking down my sandcastles whenever I tried to build them. I was telling one of them off when Ric came over and punched the bigger bully in the nose. Then he and Lester helped me build that."

"That sounds decent of him," Joe said.

"It was, and then three hours later he was back to himself."

"What did he do?"

"My mom had given me a Jiminy Cricket stuffy at dinner as a birthday present. We were walking on deck, and I saw Ric, he was in a mood about something. I showed him the stuffy to cheer him up, and he took it from me and threw it overboard."

"What a dick!" Joe said. Molly smiled weakly.

"Yep," she said. "But he wasn't all bad."

"When he told you why he said what he said at your mother's funeral, why did that make things better?"

"About lashing out at me because he was upset about mom? I did the same thing to my stepmom. It's hard to be sad, lonely and scared all at the same time. It's way easier to be angry. And because mom told me once that Ric was probably the loneliest little boy she'd ever met, and that he didn't know how to be friends with anyone. So Lester and I, being raised the way we were, decided to make it our mission to be his friends whether he wanted us to be or not. He'd push me away, and I'd come back twice as determined because my mom told me that deep down he loved me, and dammit I wanted him to show it.

Then mom died, and I realized that she was wrong. He was just a fucking asshole, and it wasn't my job to like him. When I saw him again, I wasn't taking any shit from him. After I introduced Ric to JigSaw, he apologized for being a dick and told me that essentially mom was right. He was mean to me because he knew that no matter what he said or did, I'd come back, and he needed to be angry at someone that he knew would forgive him. Then when I didn't come back after mom's funeral, he was pissed at me because I'd betrayed him by letting him push me away, and he wasn't yet in the headspace to realize that it was his fault. Now we're in this weird space where we're mostly good, but..."

"But you don't trust him," Joe said.

"I don't fully trust anyone anymore, except for you, dad and Lester. And if I were smart, I'd be more cautious with you, but my brain seems to be in firm agreement with the rest of me that I'm safe with you."

"That's because you're smart," Joe said. "Show me some more pictures."

"Why?"

"I want to know what you looked like when you were little."

"Why?"

"So I know what our kids will look like."

Molly grinned and flipped to the front of the book. She showed him her mother, pregnant with Molly, and Lester listening to her belly. Molly looked a lot like her mother. Her features were a little more delicate, and her eyes were hazel and not blue, but there was no denying she got most of her looks from her mom.

There was another picture of Lester holding Molly when she was a baby and another of him helping her walk when she was a toddler. As Molly turned the pages, the photos changed to school portraits and the odd candid shot after Molly became a teenager.

"Is that your dad?" Joe asked, touching one picture. It was Molly blowing out birthday candles with a man who looked like Ranger.

"That's Uncle Carlos, Ric's dad. His birthday is the day before mine," Molly said. She flipped through the book and rolled her eyes heavenward and muttered something under her breath.

"What?"

"There are no pictures of my dad in here. There should be tons because I was a total daddy's girl."

"Why would he leave them out?"

"Because he doesn't want you to see them. See how there are weird voids on the pages. He took them out."

"Why would he care if I saw them?"

"Because he wants you to be intimidated by him when you see him," Molly said. "He wants your first impression of him to be authentic."

"Are you going to be a nice girlfriend and tell me what to expect?"

"Oh far be it from me to spoil his fun," Molly said.

"Is he going to be armed?"

"Probably not," Molly said. "Dad doesn't like guns. On another note, have you eaten?"

"No," Joe said.

"I'm starving," Molly said.

"For what?" Joe asked.

"I dunno," Molly said.

"Let me impress you with my cooking prowess."

"What are you going to make?"

"Carbonara," Joe said.

"Were you really going to ask me to move in tonight?"

"I was," Joe said.

"How were you planning to do it?" Molly asked.

"Well I was going to start by kissing you when you walked in the door, and I was going to tell you that I love you too and make you carbonara for dinner. Then I was going to take you upstairs, and I was going to ask you to move in with me while I was doing that thing that makes you say yes to anything."

"It's not doing that thing that makes me say yes to anything. I just like saying yes to you," Molly said. "You get very creative when I say yes."

"Too bad your brother is on the sofa," Joe said.

"I can be quiet," Molly said.

Her stomach growled, and he chuckled. "Let me feed you first."

He made her a second dinner, and they ate it in the bedroom. She fell asleep leaning on his shoulder, with half of her meal still in the bowl. Joe took it downstairs, where he found Lester pulling sandwich fixings from the fridge. Joe handed him Molly's leftovers instead.

"She didn't cook the pancetta did she?" Lester asked.

"No," Joe said, "I did."

"Right on," Lester said. He took the bowl and sat down at the kitchen table, and flipped open the photo album.

"Was your father here earlier, or is that album your's?"

"Dad was here. Molly was down for the count, and he didn't want to wake her," Lester said. "I was supposed to pick him up in Newark tomorrow at noon, but I got called five minutes ago with an assignment, and I have to leave at 0800."

"You can't take compassionate leave?" Joe asked.

"Not for this one," Lester said. "Molly will understand."

"Molly will hate it," Joe said.

"But she'll understand," Lester said.

Joe left Lester to his midnight snack and went upstairs. He slipped into bed next to Molly and pulled her into his arms. She woke only enough to get comfortable. He waited until she settled and then he switched on the television, keeping the volume low. He was going to be able to sleep until he could put the feeling of losing her from his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

_**AN: Surprise! Another new chapter!**_

The alarm on Molly's phone went off at 4am, and Joe jolted awake. Molly reached for her phone, to hit snooze, and he took it out of her hand and turned it off. He started kissing her throat before she had a chance to register that she didn't need to go to work. Molly, bit her lip, and with her eyes still closed, and half asleep, she tipped her head to give him better access to her neck.

"Hey sweetheart," he said. "Guess what."

"It's early, and you're going to make it worth my while to wake up?"

"No," he said. "You're way off."

"I give up," she said breathlessly as his teeth grazed her collarbone.

"I love you," he said.

"Show me," she said.

"My pleasure," he said.

When he got out of bed later, she was smiling in her sleep. He kissed her temple and left her cuddling one of his pillows. He went downstairs, to the kitchen, and pulled the basket out of the coffee maker. It was already prepped to go. Molly could only have done it when she was alone in the kitchen the night before. He turned the coffee maker on, and got a travel mug and a regular mug out of the cupboard, and went about making his breakfast. Joe had eaten, loaded the dishwasher and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee for the road, when his mother arrived. When she walked into the kitchen, he poured her a cup of coffee in the waiting ceramic mug and handed it to her as she put her bag down.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked.

"A little," Joe said.

"Where's Molly?"

"She's had no trouble sleeping, but I doubt she's rested. I've reset her alarm for 7:00 because Lester is leaving at 8:00."

"Okay," Angie said. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going out to the crime scene," Joe said. "My phone is on; tell her to call me if she needs me, and I'll be back."

"I will," Angie said. Joe kissed his mother goodbye, and on passing by the sofa, he stopped to look at the man who would probably be his brother-in-law one day. Lester was stretched out, his feet hanging over the side of the couch, and not so much snoring as breathing with emphasis. Lester's gun was on the coffee table. Joe eyed it for a second, and then walked over and picked it up, and slid the television remote into the position the gun had been occupying. Joe went to the end of the sofa that was supporting Lester's feet, and with his free hand, he whacked Lester's feet off of the arm. Lester jolted awake and grabbed the remote saw that it was Joe who'd woken him up, and flopped back down on the couch.

"You're fucking lucky I didn't shoot you," Lester said.

"You're going to find that tricky," Joe said. Lester looked down at his hand at the remote and chucked it at Joe. Joe dodged it and it landed on the carpet with a soft thunk. Lester yawned and motioned for Joe to hand him his weapon back.

"What time is it?"

"6:30," Joe said. "There is another bedroom upstairs. Why the hell are you on the couch?"

"I like sleeping on couches," Lester said.

"You're going to fuck up your back," Joe said.

"It's my knees that are fucked, man. If I sleep on the couch, it's easier to keep things elevated, so I'm not all stiff when I get up."

Lester sat up and resituated himself on the sofa. He was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and not a helluva lot else. Joe picked Lester's pants up from the back of a chair and tossed them to Lester. "My mom's in the kitchen. Put something on before you give her a heart attack."

Lester stared at the coffee table, willing his brain to start firing. He'd had a long night too. Lester dragged his pants on, picked up a shirt, and shuffled off to the powder room. Joe was putting on his shoes at the front door when he heard Lester say, "Mrs. Morelli! You're looking beautiful this morning. Can I make you breakfast?"

"Can it. Your charm won't work on me, mister," Angie said. "What do you want?"

Joe grinned and walked out the front door to his car.

What he saw at the Cubed Root wasn't even remotely good. The alley had protected the diner and the place that sold the work boots. The empty unit in her building hadn't been so lucky. The entire building was a mostly just a shell, and the bright yellow crime scene tape was jarring against the blackened dingy grey of what used to be Molly's place. Then again, so were the fridges. The fridges that Molly kept locked were charred on the outside, but the contents on the inside of the glass-doored unit were cooked, and shriveled by the heat, but otherwise untouched. The dried flowers were a disturbingly homey touch in the wreckage.

Men and women combed the scene; all but one of them, wearing navy coveralls with CSI emblazoned on the back. The outlier's jumpsuit was a slightly different color and labeled with FBI. He saw Joe and waved to him as he got out of the Jeep.

His name was Kody Leon. Joe had been to the academy with him, and they'd been rookies together. Kody applied for the FBI's Behavioral Sciences program around the same time as Joe was made Detective, and ended up working with their Arson Investigation Unit. He was five ten, with a slim build, pale grey eyes, blonde hair that was almost precisely the same shade of white as the scalp that was visible through it. Thick, long blonde lashes framed his eyes, and he never tanned. He usually dressed in light colored suits, instead of black, because it was too much of a contrast with the rest of his appearance.

"I wouldn't climb into that mess without work boots," Kody called. Joe waited on the other side of the tape, for Cody to pick his way through the rubble. Once clear, Kody unzipped his coveralls and tied the sleeves around his waist. Kody was wearing a white Arctic Monkey's t-shirt under the coveralls. He'd probably never heard of the band before; Kody just liked used concert shirts. He picked them up at yard sales and thrift shops to wear as undershirts. He said that they were infused with positive energy and residual adrenaline and excitement from the night their previous owners acquired them.

Kody shook hands with Joe and motioned for a white, pop-up shelter in the parking lot. Joe could hear the rattle of the portable air conditioning units already banging way in the morning heat.

"You're going to want to be careful with the flowers in those fridges," Joe said.

"Why?" Kody asked.

"All of them are highly toxic," Joe said. "I don't know if the heat will have cooked the poison's off, but you're going to want to be careful. Molly says she has to take precautions with the water when she cleans the buckets. I don't know if there will be fumes or whatever sealed in there."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kody said. "You're out early."

"She's going to want to see this; I want to prepare her for it."

"Don't bring her out today. We're combing through every inch of that mess. I've told them to collect everything that is even remotely salvageable. There's no need to see it like this. Not until she's got some distance on it."

"I'll tell her that when I see her at lunch," Joe said. Kody held open the flap to the tent, and let Joe in. The temperature inside of the tent was cooler than outside, but it was still warm. Kody walked Joe passed people taking pictures of evidence and cataloging it to a small office set up at the back with a folding plastic table as a desk. On it was a Nespresso coffee maker, and a laptop.

Kody sat down on a folding chair and motioned for Joe to take one for himself. "Coffee?" Kody asked.

"I'm set," Joe said and held up a cup of Molly's coffee.

"This is better than the crap you buy," Kody said.

"Molly makes the best coffee I've ever had," Joe said.

"Are you sure about that? Or have your tastebuds just become conditioned to expect garbage, so anything halfway decent is basically ambrosia."

Joe poured some of his coffee into one of the paper cups by Kody's coffee maker and slid it to Kody.

"Jesus, that's good coffee," Kody said. "What does she do to it?"

"Fucked if I know," Joe said. "So what dragged you out of Virginia? I know it wasn't because you missed the smell of Trenton in August."

"Thanks to a detonator my colleagues found in the rubble last night, I'm in charge of this whole show now."

"A detonator?" Joe said. "I thought someone staged a gas leak? Nobody said anything about a bomb."

"Yeah," Kody said. "I'm about 80% sure your girl's landlord built the bomb too. But I doubt he was expecting that disaster to happen."

"Why?"

"I've been working with Cyber Crimes for the last two years trying to track a firebug who goes by the online handle, F4tB0ySl1m. He's not your typical arsonist."

"How so?"

"He doesn't like to set the fires himself. He likes to get other people to do it for him. He gets off on talking otherwise law-abiding citizens into committing crimes, usually involving fire, and then posts the manipulations on the Dark Web. He has a huge following, and we're trying to shut him down.

"A while back he posted instructions on the internet for an insurance fraud scheme that involved a small, supposedly untraceable, explosion that was designed to take out a furnace and water heater. If done correctly, the bomb would be completely undetectable, and it would look like a fault with the furnace. The resulting water damage would allow for a larger insurance payoff without the complete destruction of the rest of the property."

"And that's what our guy tried to do, and he fucked it up."

"Yes and no," Kody said, "Because that's not what actually happens. The device isn't the bomb; it's the detonator. It's hard-wired into the furnace electrics, and it turns the furnace into a biiiig bomb that doesn't arm until power is cut to the building and the detonator's back up battery is engaged. Then it receives a signal from a garage door opener and kaboom."

"Does it require tampering with the emergency cut-offs for the gas?" Joe asked.

"Not usually, no. Someone wanted this fire to burn for a long time, and they wanted it to burn hot. There was accelerant all over the place."

"What kind of accelerant?"

"We have to run the tests still," Kody said.

"And you were able to find the detonator?" Joe asked.

"Yes, because F4tB0ySl1m designed it to be found. He wants these people to get caught. He likes the idea of the mostly moral finding themselves in prison. And us finding the detonator pretty much clears your girl of any involvement in this."

"How do you figure?"

"You ever watch the show Stargate?" Leon asked.

"No," Joe said.

"So there's this advanced alien race, the Asgard. They have to fight these bad guys that they can't beat. They've tried everything, and they are stumped. So they turn to the relatively infantile people of Earth because it turns out that the bad guys can be taken out by human projectile weapons. The Asgard come to Earth asking for help because the Asgard aren't dumb enough to think of making a weapon like a gun and they need someone less advanced to take on their enemy," he said.

"And your point?"

"Her filing cabinets were fireproof, and a lot of the contents survived," Kody said. He brought Joe to a table that had been set up to sort through the papers in the mess. Joe looked at several detailed drawings of floral arrangements and then schematics attached to them. "She does these things she calls dynamic displays. She uses robotics to enhance her designs. Some of this shit is just simple, mechanical engineering, but others? They are really fucking elaborate, but they all have something in common. They are elegant. Yeah, she could build this bomb in her sleep, but this was crudely put together. She's like the Asgard in Stargate, too advanced to do work this crappy."

"What about Molly's landlord?"

"Oh, I'm 90% certain that he's the one who tampered with the furnace. You said in your statement to Eddie that he came to do some repairs on the unit about a month ago?"

"Yes," Joe said.

"That'll be when he set up the device," Kody said, "And the cameras were fried right?"

"Yes," Joe said.

"So were all of her electrics. There was a massive surge of electricity when he cut the power. It took out everything connected to a plug. Still, don't know why it didn't fry the detonator."

"His fault?"

"We found another box in the basement attached to the mains; he's lucky he didn't electrocute himself when he put it on. When he armed the device, it caused the power surge that took out the electrics."

"Strong enough to take down a surge protector?"

"It might as well have taken a direct hit from a bolt of lightning."

"Have you arrested him?"

"They picked him up last night," Kody said. "His name is Ryan Lutz, and Ryan has severely overextended himself in the last eight months. He was in the sort of position where everything was working, but one unexpected expense would bring the whole house of cards down.

When he found out about the problems with the furnace, the insurance company gave him until the first of September to make the repairs, or they were going to revoke his coverage. He went to the bank to get an emergency loan, and they told him to get stuffed. From what we can tell, the repairs to her appliances were legit repairs that would bring them up to code without the cost of a complete replacement, but the furnace was another story. And apparently, the state of that furnace made the fire marshals decide to check to see if his other properties were up to code. Most of them are, but there is at least one other problematic building. If this place goes up in flames before the deadline, then he still gets his insurance payout, to the tune of a couple of million, which would more than cover the cost of the repairs to the other building, if he doesn't rebuild this dump."

"He didn't think it would be a little suspicious that it went up?"

"According to the report I read, the furnace developing a major gas leak was a matter of when not if, and your girlfriend was lucky there hadn't already been problems. My guess is the repairs Rangeman witnessed on their cameras were an honest attempt at a patch job and then F4tB0ySl1m convinced her landlord that insurance fraud was the way to go."

"Any idea on the identity of the victims?"

"No," he said. "And the ME says that dental isn't going to work on the female."

"Why?"

"From the looks of it and the preliminary tox screen, she'd been losing teeth thanks to a Meth problem. What she had left were extracted perimortem," Kody said.

"Perimortem?" Joe said. "Not Antemortem?"

"As in at or near the time of death. Since it couldn't have been accomplished during the fire, we figure her teeth were extracted minutes before she went into the flower shop. We've recovered a pair of pliers from the car, and the ME thinks shards of teeth that didn't burn up in the car fire."

"She would have been in excruciating pain," Joe said.

"Not if they numbed her up real good beforehand," Kody said. "We found a vial of something in the back of the car that we're testing. My money is on it being a local anesthetic. Numb her up, give her something to make her compliant, remove her teeth and send her into the store, blow it up and presto! We need to wait for DNA to identify the body.

The ME says the backlog at the DNA lab is months, even with the federal fast pass. She knows a forensic anthropologist who owes her a favor. She's bringing him in to do a cranial reconstruction so we can try to identify the female vic that way, but it's going to take time."

"I wish I knew the point of the decoys," Joe said. "Do you think Lutz is going to take much convincing to talk?"

"I think if I sneeze aggressively in his vicinity he's going to spill his guts," Kody said. "Do you want to come and watch the interrogation, or do you have to get back to your girlfriend?"

"She's going to a spa with my mother this morning, and then they are going shopping. I'm meeting them for a late lunch."

"How's she holding up?"

"She's upset," Joe said. "She's lost a lot recently, and she was making this place work. The only good news so far is that when she called a new client yesterday to tell them what happened and that she was going to have to cancel a job, they offered to pay her even more so she could rent temporary space to work on their event."

"That's lucky," Kody said. "I'm going to have to ask her some questions. I can do it at your house if it would make you feel more comfortable?"

"That's fine," Joe said. "There is something else you need to consider."

"Her ex? I've only briefly been made aware. Tell me what you know," Kody said. Joe filled him in. "I'll look into him, but stalkers like him would kill her to preserve her beauty at an ideal stage, to save it from being spoiled. Fire is an ugly way to kill someone and not something he would do to her. He's more likely to try to suffocate or poison her. That being said, he'd have no problem burning you alive, so you're in more physical danger from him than she is. Watch your back."

"When are you going to interrogate Lutz?"

"I'm going to head over now," Kody said.

They left the tent together; Joe went to his car and Kody to one of the ubiquitous black SUV scattered throughout the parking lot. As soon as Joe was in the Jeep, he called to check on Molly. Her phone went to voicemail, so he hung up and immediately called his mom. "I'm trying to get Molly," Joe said.

"She's on the phone to her father, the Colonel," Angie said. "It sounds like a serious discussion, but JigSaw says they are discussing the weather and mulch."

"Good to know JigSaw speaks German," Joe said.

"And Mr. Manoso is here," she said.

"What does he want?"

"He's installing a security system. It looks rather frightening. I'm half afraid that lasers are going to cut me in half if I accidentally enter the wrong code."

"Jesus," Joe said.

"He said it's S.O.P. for the residences of family members."

"What did Molly say?"

"Well, she rolled her eyes and said something to him in Spanish. He gave her a look, and she went back to her phone conversation with her father. I know she said she speaks five languages, but I didn't believe it until this morning."

He grinned. "When she talks in her sleep she does it in multiple languages too."

"Meet us for lunch at 1:00," she said. "I'll have Molly text you where we're going."

Joe disconnected and drove to the police station. Kody had beat him there and was in the FBI's war room prepping for the interrogation when Joe arrived. When Joe got to his desk, he was met immediately by Finch, Big Dog, and Carl. There was no trace of their usual smart assery when they approached him.

"The Captain kicked this over to the Feds, but we're not really backing off, are we?" Carl asked.

"Kody is one of us, he just changed his badge," Joe said. "He's lead on this now. It's connected to a case of his and he's not holding anything back. He knows how we feel about this."

"Fucking right," Big Dog said.

"Who's Kody?" Finch asked.

"Someone who isn't going to walk all over us," Carl said. "He went through the academy with Morelli. We'll be kept in the loop. You're not really taking leave are you, Morelli?"

"I am," Joe said. "Molly needs help right now. The only reason I'm here is to watch Lutz's interrogation. I gather it's not going to take very long because he's not exactly a seasoned criminal."

"Oh he's going to be real jumpy," Big Dog said. "He's been in lockup all night with a drugged out biker coming down from his high."

"Molly will be touched," Joe said.

"Well Eddie and Septimus filled us in yesterday, and we figured sending her flowers would be insensitive," Carl said. "You should have said something."

"We were trying to keep it under the radar," Joe said.

Kody came out to the bullpen, still dressed in his Arctic Monkeys t-shirt, only now he was wearing jeans and a tan blazer that looked like it spent most of its life crammed into a gym bag. He waved Joe towards interrogation, and Carl, Big Dog, and Finch trooped after Joe into the observation room. Joe hit the speaker button on the window so they could hear what was going on, and waited for Kody to go into the room.

Lutz was in his mid-forties, starting to grey, with the body of a guy who'd been in construction for a while. He was solid in his neck, back, and shoulders, but a little soft in the belly region. He was wearing a pink golf shirt that looked like it was Lacoste, but on closer inspection, instead of the gator embroidered on the chest, it was a naked green female Orion from Star Trek.

When Kody walked into the room, Lutz stood up, "This wasn't my idea. The thing was only supposed to destroy the furnace, not blow up the building."

"Sit down," Kody said. "Have you been advised of your rights?"

"Yes," Lutz said. "And I told my attorney that I am going to co-operate fully."

"Do you want to wait for him to get here?"

"No," Lutz said. "I want to get this over with so I can go home."

"That's might be difficult. You might get a sympathetic judge who is willing to grant bail, but it's going to be high. None of this city's reputable bondsmen are going to bail you out, and you don't have the kind of dough to pay out of pocket. I know; I've seen your bank balance. My six-year-old nephew has more money than you do, and his allowance is two dollars a week."

"It was an accident," Lutz said.

"I get it, you just tripped and accidentally rigged a detonator to your furnace?" Kody said, "And then what? You accidentally sat on the remote to trigger the bomb."

"It wasn't supposed to blow up the building; just the furnace, and the water heater. The explosion wasn't supposed to be that big. I must have done something wrong. I know it's insurance fraud, but it's the only way I could get the money to replace her furnace."

"Insurance fraud is the least of your worries right now," Kody said, "You're looking at two counts of murder."

"No," Lutz said. "I made sure that place was empty before I did anything. Molly wasn't in, she was next door, at the diner when I killed the power."

"That's interesting because Miss Von Grimmelschaussen said that she turned on the lights and the power quit on her. Are you telling me that she happens to have the world's best timing and she turned on the switch at the precise moment you cut the power?"

"No!" Lutz said, "Okay, I heard her come into the store while I was getting ready to cut the power in the basement. I flicked the switch when I heard her turn the lights on."

"And how did her security cameras not pick you up, going in?"

"I went in through the basement next door," Lutz said.

"According to our building plans, there is no access between basements."

"There wasn't supposed to be, but the tenants who were renting the units before Molly, were using the basement as a grow-op and they cut a hole through the walls. That's why I don't let the renters have access to the basements anymore and installed big steel doors and only I have the keys for them."

"So you accessed the basement through the neighboring building, and you killed the power. Then what?"

"I waited until Molly left, and I went upstairs to check the store. There was nobody inside, and I knew the cameras were down, so I looked in her apartment to make sure she wasn't up there. The place was empty, and I left."

"You said you made sure she couldn't get back in?"

"Yes," he said. "I used heavy duty cable ties to secure the door from the inside, and I left through the way I came in."

"We haven't been able to access the basement yet, so I can't confirm that what you're saying is even possible, but I can tell you that your cable ties didn't work.

About five minutes prior to the explosion, a woman matching Miss Von G's description entered the store. A man matching her bodyguard's description saw her inside, and then returned to the vehicle parked outside of the building. She was standing by the cash register when the bomb went off. The car was taken out by a secondary explosion." Kody put two photograph's down on the table. "Those are their remains. The man in the car was lucky; his death was instantaneous. The woman not so much. She burned to death. The ME thinks it's possible she was knocked unconscious and with any luck it was quick. But it wasn't a pretty way to go."

"No no no no no," Lutz said and covered the pictures with his hands. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he fumbled as he tried to turn the pictures over. "The store was empty, and I locked it down so she couldn't get back in. This isn't my fault. You have to believe me. It's that guy from the insurance company."

"What guy from the insurance company?"

"The French guy! Claude something. I have his card at my house," Lutz said. Kody looked over his shoulder at the one-way glass and nodded to Joe.

"I want a nationwide APB out on Brasseau, yesterday," Joe barked, "I want you to get it to Interpol, the RCMP, and the Gendarmerie Nationale. This is no longer a stalking case; he's wanted in connection with arson, an attempted murder, and a double homicide. Fuck I knew it was him!"

Finch sprinted from the room, and Big Dog ran to the door.

"And while you're at it, I want a hard target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in the area! Go get him!" Big Dog shouted down the hall.

He came back into the room, and Carl nodded. "Nice, you watched the Fugitive last night didn't you?"

"Nah, I've just always wanted the opportunity to say that."

Joe might have laughed if he weren't resisting the urge to put his fist through the wall. Not only did he not want to get sent home just yet, but he also didn't want the bruises on his knuckles when he saw Molly next.

"Start from the beginning," Kody said, on the other side of the glass. "Frankly, you're not the first guy to get tricked into something like this, and we'd like to catch the guy behind it. If you co-operate fully, and we catch him, we can cut a deal. But you have to tell me everything."

"I knew there were issues with the furnace, but I didn't think they were that bad. I put extra alarms in the basement so that if there were any leaks, Molly would know and get out. When I went on vacation, I told my brother-in-law that if there was a problem, all he had to do was jiggle this one valve, and give it a good knock like you do a computer and it'll start going. Her furnace went out, and instead of doing what I told him to, he called this HVAC guy to come in, and that guy reported the furnace to the authorities. The HVAC guy put a band-aid on the problem, but they told me that I had to have all of my buildings inspected and that Molly couldn't live or work in the building until things were brought up to code.

She's had a rough go of things, and by rights, I shouldn't have even taken the risk of leasing the unit to her in the first place, given her credit history, and the stuff in the papers at the time, but she's…well, she's sweet, and she's pretty. And it turns out she's a really fucking good tenant. I mean she manages to bring business to the park, and, I actually enjoy her company. I can't say that about most of my tenants."

"And the French man?" Kody asked. "How did you get involved with him?"

"I tried to rent a new furnace, and I couldn't because my credit is shit. They wouldn't lease me one, and the bank was no help either."

"So you got desperate," Kody said.

"No," he said. "I went to the insurance company's offices and told them that they should cover the broken unit. It failed and the cost of replacing it was exactly the reason I paid for insurance in the first place. They gave me until September to replace it, and I was going to try another Furnace company to see if I could make instalment payments if they delivered the unit after it was paid for. You know, like layaway? They were good with that."

"So why defraud the insurance company?"

"It wasn't my idea," he said. "This Claude guy approached me at lunch. He said I was getting screwed by his bosses and that the reason I didn't get the payout is that we repaired the furnace in the first place. Because it was functioning, they could turn me down. He said I needed it to fail but in a way that only ruined it and the water heater."

"Why the water heater?"

"Because of all of the water damage it would do to the basement, it would be more money," Lutz said. "He made it sound so easy. I build this thing, and it would flood the basement with so much gas that there wouldn't be enough oxygen to start a fire, so there would be no explosion beyond the first one that would take out part of the furnace and the water heater."

"And you believed him?"

"Not at first," he said. "At first I told him to fuck off, but then he started sending me these emails, and this video of exactly what would happen. I met with him again, and he gave me the plans."

"What made you decide to do it yesterday?"

"It's this heatwave," he said. "He called me and told me that if Molly's AC went down, she'd have to leave the store, and people would think the fire was just part of the failing whatever."

"And the electrical malfunctions?"

"Electrical malfunctions?"

"Her building was experiencing massive electrical surges, strong enough to take out a surge protector and short out her security cameras. It was deliberate; we found the device that would trigger the surge."

"No," he said. "That Claude guy said that all it would do is shut the power down, in a way she couldn't turn it back on. He said if I just tripped the main breaker she could turn it back on and overload the device."

"And people would assume she had faulty wiring in addition to shitty appliances," Kody said.

"It's an old building, and it has a lot of problems. I was trying to stay on top of them all. But she's one tenant, and she was a low priority. Everybody knew that."

"You are aware of the fact that she has one of the best security firms on the Eastern Seaboard working for her, are you not?"

"Yes," he said.

"So when their security assessment requested cameras in the alleyway by her building, why did you deny that access?"

He turned beet red, and became defensive, "If he had his way there wouldn't be a square inch of that place not covered in cameras and alarms and it would have been like living in a prison state!"

"I think you mean police state," Kody said.

"Whatever," he said. "He wanted to run background checks on everyone who works for me. He wouldn't just take my word for it that I'd done it. I mean I like the girl, but you'd think she was the President, the way he was trying to set things up."

"Did it occur to you that he wanted to go to such lengths because she was having difficulty with a stalker?"

"She… What?"

"Her ex-fiancé has been stalking her for some time. But you know that, don't you?" Kody said.

"I didn't know she was in a relationship with anyone until she started seeing that Joe guy."

"Not only was she engaged to be married, but the man was French," Kody said. "And here's what I think really happened. I know your attraction to Miss Von G is deeper than a mild crush because I know the reason you wouldn't let Rangeman put cameras in the alley is so you can fuck hookers who look like Miss Von G, while she's in her store, oblivious to what you're doing. According to her bodyguard, the frequency is greater in the summer months when she wears short sundresses to work every day. I think you came on to Miss Von G, and I think she turned you down. She's a classy kind of woman, and maybe you thought given her financial situation, that she was being a bit uppity for doing so. I mean you took a chance on her, letting her lease the place, given her reputation and history, and now you were out all of this money because of her. She owed you but wouldn't play ball. I think you recognized her ex from the papers, and when he approached you with the plans, you agreed to go along with it, so you could pin it on him if you got caught."

"No, that's not what happened! You can ask her cousin! All of her security cameras record audio, and if she leaves her door open in her apartment, it picks up anything that goes on in there. I have never come on to her. Our relationship has always been professional. Always."

"Except for the hookers, of course," Kody said.

"Yes!" He said. "I swear I didn't know this guy was her stalker. I just thought her cousin and brother were overprotective."

"So you expect me to believe that a Frenchman named Claude gave you this idea and you, a veteran of countless building demolitions didn't recognize a bomb when you saw it? Do you know how made up that sounds?"

"No! I swear it's true! He had a card from the insurance company. If it was her ex, I didn't know! He promised me that it would only destroy the furnace and I never wanted to hurt her."

Kody glanced at Joe through the observation glass. Joe found a picture of Molly with Brasseau on the internet and texted it to Kody.

"Is this him?" Kody asked, and showed him the text. Lutz sagged with relief.

"No," he said. "No that's not him. This guy was blonde with curly hair and really good looking. Like he should be in an old painting or sculpture or something. Look, you have to protect me."

"Why?"

"Mr. Manoso and Mr. Santos kill people. What I did was an accident. It wasn't supposed to be that big of an explosion. It was just supposed to take out the tank. They loved her, and…"

"She's safe at home with her boyfriend's mother."

"You said she was dead!" He said.

"No," Kody said, "I said someone who looked like her, was dead. You were seen taking a working girl who also fits that same physical description, into the alley next to the building that morning. Did you give her keys to the place then? Or before she returned to the store."

"I didn't give her keys at all. I picked her up on a street corner like I always do!" He said.

"You pick the same woman up every time?"

"No," he said. "Whoever comes to the car first."

"Why did you rip out her teeth?" He asked.

"R-rip out h-her teeth?" Lutz asked. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he melted out of his chair in a dead faint.

Kody called for a medic to tend to Lutz and put him back into his chair. While he was being cared for, Kody went back to Joe.

"There is absolutely no way, that this isn't connected to Brasseau," Joe said. "He's involved."

"If you were to start looking at his confederates, who would you look at?"

"Molly said when they were in school they were part of a tight-knit group. They all even went to university together. If Brasseau's working out of some twisted sense of chivalry, and he's trying to protect Molly from some threat, then the only people he's going to trust are from that group."

"I agree," Kody said, "At this point, the theory that makes the most sense is that Brasseau sent decoys into the store that looked like Molly and JigSaw from a distance, and faked their deaths to get rid of the threat."

"Do you think Brasseau is F4tB0ySl1m?" Joe asked.

"It makes sense," Kody said, "If he tried to manipulate the wrong person and they figured out who he was, they would have his nuts in a vice. It would stand to reason they would threaten Molly in some way to make him pay."

"Guys," Carl said, "We forget something, here."

"What?" Joe said.

"If he faked Molly's death to take the pressure off, he's going to want her back so he can take her into hiding with him," Carl said.

"Get to the spa, right now," Joe said. "I want a visible police presence on her at all times. I'm going to talk to Rangeman about stepping up her security even further. We're not taking any chances."


	15. Chapter 15

**_AN: Thank you for your reviews and your patience. I'm definitely on the mend, but I'm still pretty limited with how much I can sit at my keyboard. I would like to offer another reassurance that I have not forgotten about Saturday; I'm just focusing on one story at a time until I'm done physiotherapy._**

There was a distinct smell of smoke on his clothes when Joe got back into his car, so he detoured home to change, and found Ranger standing on the front porch, cell phone in hand.

"Still here?" Joe asked.

"Almost gone," he said. "Waiting for one more thing."

Joe glanced at Ranger's phone and saw a progress bar that had twenty seconds remaining on it.

"Don't you just hate that? You buy a brand new impenetrable forcefield, and you have to do a software update before you can use it."

"Stephanie's new phone," Ranger said.

"What's wrong with the old one?"

"She dropped it in the sink while she was brushing her teeth this morning. It works fine now, but…"

He didn't need to finish the thought. She got a little water on it, and for most people, it would probably be okay. For Stephanie it would mean that a drop of moisture managed to find its way into a critical location in the phone, the part would start to corrode, and nothing would appear to be wrong, but then she'd find herself pinned down by homicidal aliens and need back up, and that's when the phone would explode and die.

"I'll swap it out when we have lunch later," Ranger said.

"We have a problem," Joe said. He filled Ranger in on Lutz's confession, and Ranger's jaw ticked, but he didn't comment immediately.

"I'm going to have JigSaw put together a team," Ranger said. "You'll have your uniforms on Slater, and I'll have my men patrolling the surrounding streets."

A car pulled up, and one of Ranger's men got out and handed Ranger a plain white cardboard box. Ranger gave it to Joe.

"Sig Sauer .22, semi-automatic with permits," Ranger said.

"I have a gun, thanks."

"It's for Molly," Ranger said. "Her Glock was ruined in the fire. She never liked the weight of it, and I think she'll like the action on this one better. There's less recoil and a lighter trigger. Now that she's out of the cast, she needs to get out to the range."

"I take it she's not going to need training wheels?"

"Nope," Ranger said. "Molly fired her first weapon before I did. The colonel dressed her like a fairy princess, but he never let her be one."

"And is she any good?"

"She'd pass a law enforcement proficiency examination with little difficulty," Ranger said.

"Is that 'you-speak' for she's a fucking sharpshooter; don't piss her off?"

"No," Ranger said. "It means that Molly does well on the range and she knows how to shoot if it's required. She's never had to use it outside of practice, and she hates carrying it."

They went into the kitchen. Joe put the box down on the counter and took the gun out.

"There's an S&W that's similar," Ranger said. "If she doesn't like this Sig, I'd like to try her on the Smith and Wesson before I put her back on the Glock."

"I've used the S&W, and it's not my favorite," Joe said. "Molly has little wrists, and it has more bite than you'd expect."

"Her Glock had the same problem," Ranger said. "That's why I want to try her on the Sig."

Joe checked the action on the gun and looked at the permits. She had permission to carry concealed. That wasn't exactly an easy permit to get. "Why?"

"Because she wouldn't be comfortable wearing a visible gun," Ranger said.

Joe packed the permits back into the box with the gun and the ammo. "I'll make sure she knows she has it," Joe said.

"I don't care if it's our range, Sunny's or the police range, she needs to get out there."

"I'll make sure she goes," Joe said. "What have you done with the house?"

"You have security panels by the door but not visible from the street. There's another panel in your bedroom. Molly can activate it and deactivate it from there if she wants to. There are cameras on the entrances, and we will be notified when any windows are opened. Molly's watch has been updated to have a more accurate GPS chip and a built-in panic button. If she's in the house when it's activated every light will come on, including a set of tactical lights, that will light up at the same time a siren operating at 130 decibels will activate. That's about ten decibels louder than the average ambulance siren."

"You're turning my house into a giant flashbang, without the explosives," Joe said.

"Yes," Ranger said. "The siren will drop down to 110 decibels after thirty seconds so that Molly doesn't suffer from permanent hearing loss if for some reason we don't get to her in that window."

"And if she's not home when she activates the button?"

"She will automatically be connected to Rangeman, and we will record all audio around her. In addition to that, Police dispatch will receive an automated call with the exact GPS location of the activation, and they will be connected to Rangeman where we will have our screens tuned to her position."

"You didn't do this when Stephanie lived here," Joe said.

"You have to tailor the security to the person," Ranger said, "All of the security in the world isn't going to stop Stephanie from getting into trouble. Besides I tried to install a security system in her apartment once."

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"She shot it," Ranger said. "The tech in Steph's watch is similar to Molly's, with a few more bells and whistles. The second I can figure out universal subsurface tracking technology, Steph will have that too."

"That's not going to be enough," Joe said. "You should consider getting her a bulletproof bubble."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it," Ranger said.

"Anything else I should know?"

"If for some reason Molly doesn't have her watch on, all she has to do is get to one of the security panels and mash it with her hand, twice in under five seconds. A tone will sound, giving her five seconds to begin entering her deactivation code. If she doesn't, all hell breaks loose."

"That should about cover it, then," Joe said.

Ranger left Joe his new alarm codes and keys on the counter and left. Joe picked up the magazine for the sig and loaded it. He put it in the gun, made sure the safety was on and took it upstairs. He put it in the safe, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Instead of restoring him, it contributed to the headache that was forming in his temples. He got up, and walked to the bathroom and opened the closet he'd expanded almost a year before.

It was a domestic overture to Stephanie, meant with the best intentions, and if anyone ever asked him when he first thought that he and Stephanie weren't going to make it, it was the fallout from this renovation.

She was always coming home covered in crap, and she'd strip at the front door, trudge to the basement, where she'd put her clothes in the machines down there, and she'd come up, bitching about spiders. The units in the basement were old, and the only one who ever used them was Stephanie, because she didn't really give a damn if the washer occasionally put holes in clothes, or the dryer melted what looked like black rubber lipstick marks into anything white.

After a mystery substances on one of her sweatshirts caught fire, he broke down and put new machines in upstairs. He told her they were there so she didn't have to deal with spiders while she was naked and defenseless. It was supposed to be a nice gesture. She'd seen it as a criticism of her abilities, both professional and domestic. She'd stormed out of his house, telling him he could shove his washer and dryer in an anatomically improbable location, and he spent the night trying to think of reasons to not call her and end it for real.

Less than a week later, someone broke into her place and hosed it down with strawberry flavored lube. Confident that her grandmother would recognize the fragrance, Stephanie had come to his house while her super replaced carpets. She didn't even say hello, she just went upstairs, showered until he was out of hot water and then got dressed and helped herself to a beer from the fridge.

"Thanks," she said. "There was so much lube in my hair that if I'd gone downstairs, the spiders might have been tempted to use it for ice skating."

It wasn't an apology, and they hadn't really made up. They were in a weird place, and they were never really able to get back out of it. When Joe found out that she was engaged, and he admittedly acted like a jackass, after the dust had settled and his nose had been put back where it belonged, he was actually relieved that it was over. He still loved her, and his pride was hurt, but it felt like a weight had been lifted.

How many times had he gone to see her standing next to the wreckage of some burning car/building/motorhome? How many times had he been called because Stephanie was missing/taken hostage/in the hospital? Yes, he'd been worried each time. Each time there was the knowledge that this could be the time her luck ran out. He would be worried, but he'd never been paralyzed by it. He would get her back to his place, get her cleaned up, deal with the aftermath, and then life would move on. If there were still a threat, they'd put more protection on her. She would usually go stay with Ranger and Joe would do what he could to help her.

With this? Joe couldn't focus. He needed to get to the bottom of it.

He knew the answers were there. He knew that Kody's theory about Brasseau being F4tb0ysl1m made sense. Hell Ranger obviously believed it did too. Yet, Joe's gut was telling him that no, this wasn't about something Lucien did, and it wasn't about Midas Maggie. They were thinking about this all wrong. They were all looking at it, like maybe somebody was going after Molly because of her relationship with Ranger, with Lucien, with Lester, with Maggie, and they all overlooked the fact that there was a reason why someone like Midas Maggie would be drawn to Molly. Why Lucien would be so desperate to protect Molly that he'd kill to keep her safe. Why JigSaw, insisted on protecting her, even though his skill set should have him running black ops in some desert somewhere. Molly was special. She would be a draw on her own.

She could have picked up a stalker while she was living with her father in Europe. She used to go to the hospital with her father to visit wounded soldiers. She may have shown compassion to a man who'd been broken by the war, and he'd developed an obsession. It could be a customer, a former classmate, a fan who followed her work. These were probably more likely than Lucien Brasseau being a secret internet arsonist.

Joe knew the answers were there. His gut was telling him that it was something that happened in France. He knew that the pieces of the puzzle were in front of him already, but every time he tried to focus, he saw that burning building, or he'd hear Molly crying in her sleep. He couldn't shake the sick, hollow feeling in his stomach that had been with him since Eddie told him that she was dead. Even holding her all night hadn't been enough. He wanted to be with her, he wanted to leave everything and hide her somewhere. That wouldn't solve anything, and she wouldn't really be safe that way. What she needed, was for him to do his fucking job.

"I'm not praying'" Joe said. "I'm not going to bargain with you. I'm not going to tell you that I'm going to be a better man, or promise to be faithful to Molly if you'd just help me, because I'm doing that for her. Not you. And I know I fucked up as a kid, but I've done my penance and then some, and now you owe me. You owe me for every time I've had to sit in someone's living room and tell them that their kid is dead because you let monsters have free will. You owe me for every rape victim I've had to coax into the humiliation of recounting the worst moments of their lives so I could catch the bastards that hurt them. And you owe me for every time I went to school and pretended that my broken rib, black eye, split lip, or broken arm, was the result of clumsiness or fighting with my brothers because you expected a seven-year-old to stop a mean drunk from going too far and killing my mother. You. Owe. Me," he said and slammed his hand down on the washer, "And now I'm calling in the debt. I need Molly to be safe. I'm not asking you to protect her, because we know you don't do that. But I can't help her if I can't focus, if I can't put the pieces together and remember how to be a cop. So I need your help. I need to get this shit out of my head, because she needs me, and I can't think. That's all I want. Let me think so I can save her, and I'll call it even, and we can go back to ignoring each other."

There was no sudden clarity, no sudden moment of calm, he was still unsettled, still unfocused; if anything it was worse, because now in addition to everything else, he was pissed off. "Thanks," he muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose again and then opened the washing machine. There was something glinting in bottom of the machine, in one of the holes in the drum. He reached in and felt the post to an earring. It took a few minutes, but he was able to get it out. A few days before Molly'd lost an earring. They weren't overly valuable, but they were one of her favorite pairs. It must have fallen into the laundry. There wasn't anything overly special about them. Just a small ball that the post was attached to, and then a fine silver chain with a little silver cube at the bottom. She told him that she liked them because dangling earrings always made her feel elegant, and these were light, and the perfect length.

He put his clothes in the washer and flipped the lid down. He wouldn't run it, until after he took his shower. Joe took the earring to the bedroom and opened Molly's jewelry box. He found it's partner hanging from a little flap in the lid, among several different pairs of its brethren. He put the newly recovered earring in its place and closed the lid with a soft thump. It was that noise, that sounded unnaturally loud in his empty house that drew his attention to the fact that there was nobody there. Nobody who needed him to be strong, or even reasonable, so for a moment he gave in to the warring emotions, and then he pulled himself together and took a shower.

He was getting dressed when Molly texted.

 _-Did anyone ever give you my grandmother's address? Because I don't think I did yesterday._

Joe tapped on her name and hit call.

"Hi," she said. "I was just going to send the address to you, just in case."

"Thanks," he said. "Who should I fear more, your dad, or your grandmother?"

"Rosa," Molly said, "Hands down. Win her over and how dad feels about you won't matter. She'll protect you."

"What's the secret to winning her over?" Joe asked.

"Just flirt with her a little, charm the hell out of her, and she'll adore you."

"I can do that," Joe said. "Women find it hard not to like me."

"I know," Molly said. "Look, when you get to the neighborhood, you'll be in a part of town that was built in the 70s when everything looked the same, and it's been a game of neighborhood children, from time immemorial to steal house numbers as a prank. It's basically a rite of passage now."

"Did you?"

"That depends," she said, "Am I speaking to my boyfriend, or am I speaking to a cop?"

"I think it's safe to say that statute of limitations is up on your petty vandalism."

"How do you know?" Molly asked.

Joe grinned, "Fine; Newark is out of my jurisdiction."

"Did I mention it was a rite of passage?" Molly asked. "It's even possible that my dad was an accomplice."

"How am I going to know that I'm at the right house?"

"Rosa has a bright red front door that's covered with yellow and white hand painted flowers, that looked like kids did it."

"Did kids do it?"

"Yep," Molly said. "Mine's the big white daisy around the doorknob."

"I think I like your grandmother," Joe said. "Where are we having lunch?"

"Dad picked the restaurant. He'll tell you how to get there."

"Cool," Joe said. "Look, you're going to have a lot of extra protection today. If you even think you see Lucien, hit your panic button, okay?"

"I will," she said. "Oh I have to go, I'll see you at 1:00. Dad picked the restaurant so he'll show you how to get there. I love you."

Joe waited for a beat.

"Are you there? Did I lose you?" Molly asked.

"No," Joe said, "I was just waiting to see if you'd throw your phone away again. I wasn't sure if that's how you were going to say goodbye from now on."

"Ass," Molly said with a laugh.

"I love you too, I'll see you later."

He hung up the phone and finished getting dressed. Time to go pick up Javier Santos.

The night before, over the photo album, Molly had given him a brief history of the Santos/Manoso clan. Rosa Manoso fled Cuba as Rosa Santos, a widow with four children. She made it out on one of the last Freedom fights. While they were in Miami, she met Jorge Manoso, who seeing her with her four children, introduced her to his mother and his family took them in. It was there that she met Jorge's brother Carlos, and fell in love. They got married before they moved to Newark, where they had five more children. They were able to buy the other side of the Duplex they were living in, and they'd built a connecting door on the lower floor of the houses.

When her kids grew up and left the nest, she considered selling the other half and might have, if her son Javier had not found himself alone with a newborn son. He moved into the other side of the Duplex and lived there for the first year of Lester's life while Javier finalized the divorce, and got back on his feet. When he moved out, one of Rosa's nieces moved in with some friends while they went to University. There was always someone moving in or out of the Duplex either because of a divorce, school, financial difficulties, what have you. Molly had considered it when she got divorced, but Ranger's sister Celia was living there with her family because of a pipe burst and insurance repair on her house that was taking forever. The mortgage had long been paid off, and whenever Javier came home from Miami to visit, he stayed in the empty duplex and did whatever repairs were required.

Joe found the house with little difficulty, but Molly's description of the door was entirely unnecessary. On the front porch, sitting on the steps, drinking coffee, was Molly's dad. He couldn't possibly be anyone else. He had the same dark complexion that Ranger had, and his hair was greying, but otherwise, he looked exactly like Lester. No, that was an exaggeration. He didn't look _exactly_ like Lester. He was more jacked than Lester. The man was built like Terry Crews.

Joe got out of the car, and Molly's dad stood up and walked to the Jeep where he shook Joe's hand. The handshake was firm but not obnoxiously so. "Javier Santos?" Joe asked.

"Yep, and you're Joe. I can't say that I've heard very many good things about you," Javier said.

"From Lester?" Joe guessed.

"Yeah."

"He must be warming up to me," Joe said. "Because I find it hard to believe you've heard any good things about me from him."

Javier suppressed a smile. "What's Molly's favorite color?"

"Do I get to cross the Bridge of Death if I know the answer?" Joe asked.

"The last time Molly was head over heels in love with a guy, he hated her favorite color so he tried to tell her that it should be yellow. Molly being Molly, she played along, but she doesn't like it. She has another favorite color, and I want to know how you feel about it."

"She likes grey," Joe said.

"Not purple?"

"She looks sexy as hell in purple, and she likes it, but grey is her favorite."

"And?"

"When she told me, I changed her ringtone to Mr. Jones by the Counting Crows, and that's pretty much it."

They heard the screen door bang, and they redirected their attention to the front porch. On the steps, wearing a sundress that Joe was pretty sure he'd seen on Molly, was Rosa Manoso. She was about five six, with an erect posture, hair cut in a stylish pixie cut, and dark brown eyes, that looked almost black. Joe was confident that if he'd run her face through de-aging software, he'd find that Ranger had inherited his eyes from his grandmother.

"You are Joseph," she said. "I saw you at Carlos's reception. I told Carlos that I would like to see you with Molly."

"Did you?" Joe said.

"You are very handsome with a bad reputation, and Molly was in dire need of a good…"

"Mother!" Javier said.

"Man! I was going to say, man!"

"You were not," Javier said. "How could you possibly get 'good man,' from 'handsome with a bad reputation?'"

"He was there, he didn't cause a scene, he looked happy for Stephanie. I assumed that his reputation was from before he grew up. Meaning that he was a good man now, but had enough of a past that he wasn't going to judge my granddaughter too harshly for the untruths spoken about her."

Javier looked dubiously at his mother, and she stared back at him, and he shrugged.

"Your mind is in the gutter," Rosa said.

"I apologize, mama," Javier said. Rosa winked at Joe, and Joe nearly burst out laughing.

"If you have any problems with my son, you come to me," Rosa said. "He may be too old to send to his room, but that doesn't mean I cannot punish him in other ways."

"Thank you," Joe said with a chuckle. "I thought you only spoke Spanish?"

"I have been living in America for over forty years. Of course, I speak English. I just prefer to speak Spanish. Now go to my granddaughter. She'll be missing you."

Javier kissed his mother on the cheek, and they got into the Jeep. The restaurant that Javier chose was a defunct Olive Garden, that still looked like an Olive Garden, with a sign that had been changed to read, Simone's Burgers.

Simone was evidently doing good business because the parking lot was packed when they got there, half an hour early. They went in and had to wait for a table. They were just getting seated when Joe received a text from Molly saying that they were running a little behind and would be another twenty minutes. In exchange for seeing to it that there was a mint chocolate chip milkshake waiting for her when she got there, she promised him some things that made him grin, but then wisely delete the text messages. He was afraid that if Javi would crush Joe's skull if he happened to glance at the phone screen.

He flagged a waitress and had just placed the order, when two guys in ski masks and carrying automatic weapons, walked into the restaurant.

"Everyone down on the ground!" One of them shouted.

From their builds they were young, and from the way they were holding their guns, they were inexperienced. Joe slipped his 9mm out of its holster at the back of his pants and tucked it under a napkin on the table, before he and Javier knelt on the floor with their hands behind their heads.

"Next time I decide to call in a debt, I'll be more specific," Joe muttered.

"What?" Javier said.

"Just follow my lead," Joe said.

One of the gunmen had gone to the kitchen and had all of the kitchen staff come out and kneel on the floor with the rest of the patrons.

"You!" The first gunman said, he threw a pillowcase at one of the waitresses. "Empty the cash drawers and the tip jar."

"You don't want her to do that," Joe piped up. Both men turned their guns on Joe, and Javier glared at him to shut up.

"What?" Gunman number One said.

"Well if you want to make sure that she doesn't hit a silent alarm, you're going to have to get close to her. That tip jar looks pretty full. It'd just be embarrassing if she knocked you out with it."

"Yo he's right," the second gunman said to the first, "You empty it."

"Wrong again," Joe said.

"Yo shut up!" Number One said.

"There are two of you and about fifty people in here. And we're in New Jersey," Joe said. "There are probably at least a dozen illegally concealed weapons in this room. I mean, if you take your eyes off of us for one second, someone's going to blow a hole in you."

"Fuck," The Second Gunman said.

"What should we do?" Number One asked.

"One table at a time, Have everyone empty their pockets and put their stuff on their tables," Joe said.

"Not the floors?"

"No," Joe said, "If they put them on the floors you give them the chance to kick something under the tables."

"That's a good point," One said. "But like, how do we pick shit up without someone taking a shot at us?"

"You put everyone in the bathrooms. That way you can take your sweet time, and you don't have to worry about getting shot at."

"Oh, fuck. That's a good idea," Number Two said. Number One agreed. "We'll start with you two."

Joe emptied his pockets, and Two came over and picked up Joe's wallet and his cuffs. "You're a fucking Cop!?"

"Of course I'm not a fucking cop. Does that badge look real to you?" Joe snapped. "You really are new at this aren't you? I'm running a con. Do you really think I would be helping you if I were a real cop?"

"Yeah well, what about these?" He picked up the cuffs. "They look real."

"My girlfriend is into kink," Joe said with a shrug. "They usually have fur on them." He dropped the cuffs, and Joe avoided eye contact with Javi. Joe hadn't actually cuffed Molly before, but he'd caught her eyeing them a couple of times, so he figured she might be into it.

"What's the con?" Two asked.

Joe sighed, "I'm trying to get this guy to tell me where my old partner hid our last score. Before you fucked everything up, I had him convinced that he's violating his parole and looking at serious jail time if he doesn't become my informant, and you've totally just blown that."

"He don't look like he's been on the inside."

"Really," Joe said, "The only people who are built like that, are special forces, movie stars, and people who have nothing better to do with themselves. Aka, inmates. He's too old to be Special Forces, and I've never seen him in the movies, so…"

"Okay, yeah," Gunman number one said. "So what you helping us for?"

"I like working with a team, and you guys are enterprising young men in need of a mentor if you don't want to end up in prison. If I get you out of here without you getting shot or placed under arrest, I get an equal cut, and I can help you with your future endeavors."

"Yeah, okay. That works. I'm Mo, and this is Paul."

"Introductions later, idiot. I'll keep an eye on the people emptying their pockets, and one of you can escort them to the bathrooms. Do _not_ touch anyone unless they take a swing at you. Got it?"

Mo and Paul nodded.

Joe stood up, and when he did, he picked up his cell phone, he waited until Paul was escorting the first group to the bathroom, and Mo was distracted by the parking lot, before he slipped another phone into the pocket of a woman he was frisking. He escorted her to the bathroom and when she got inside, he said. "When the last table gets here, lock the door and call 911, but not before everyone is safe."

She nodded. Then he went back out to the room. It didn't take long to get everyone into the bathrooms, Javi being the last man to go into the men's room with Joe's phone. He told Javi to lock the doors, and he agreed. That done, Joe went back out to the dining room where the two idiots were waiting for instructions.

"Now what do we do?" Mo asked. "Gather everything?"

"Nope," Joe said. "How did you get here?"

"Uhh, my sister's van."

"There are security cameras," Joe said. "The first thing the Cops are going to do is check the cameras, and they are going to make sure each and every car is accounted for, against the victims of this little heist of yours. Then they are going to see that van, and from there it'll take them maybe ten minutes to figure out you two did this. Where's the van?"

"It's in the parking lot," Mo said.

"Go get it, and move it around to the loading bay," Joe said. "Paul and I will collect everything, and then we can erase the security footage."

"You know how to do that?" Mo asked.

"Yep," Joe said.

Mo went out the front door and hopped into his van. Paul went to start gathering everything and Joe casually walked over to his gun, moved the napkin, and picked up his gun and his cuffs.

"Fuck," Paul said. Joe nodded. He took off his belt and secured Paul with it, so he had his cuffs ready for Mo. When Mo came back, unarmed, Joe was waiting for him by the entrance, with his gun. Before Mo could register what was happening, Joe had one of Mo's arms behind his back, and in a bracelet.

"The badge was real?" Mo asked.

"Yep, you're an idiot," Joe said as he secured the other wrist. "And you have the right to remain silent."

"So that stuff about a con?"

"All lies," Joe said. He dragged them to the front of the restaurant and parked them on a bench, while he waited for the two minutes it was going to take the police to get to the restaurant. Almost exactly two minutes later a patrol car came screeching into the lot, followed by a couple of ambulances and a SWAT van.

Joe held up his badge, as the two Uniforms got out of the squad car.

"Yo Morelli," one of them said. He used to be TPD before moving to Newark. His name was Mike, but everyone called him Duck. The reason why was a complete mystery to everyone, even Duck, whose parents had been calling him Duck since he was a baby but refused to tell him why.

"Hey," Joe said.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Duck asked.

"Meeting my girlfriend for lunch, with her father."

"And you walked into this?" Duck asked.

"Well we were seated when these idiots decided to hold up the place," Joe said. Duck introduced Joe to his rookie and then sent the rookie to start hauling Mo and Paul to the car.

"Hey, about your girl," Duck said. "I heard about what happened. How is she?"

"Hanging in there," Joe said. "Still in shock."

"Was it just you in the restaurant? Odd for Simone's at this time of day. This place is usually packed with customers."

"It was, but I convinced the criminal masterminds to let the other customers lock themselves in the restrooms," Joe said. "Wanna give me my cuffs and belt back?"

"Sure," Duck said. They put Mo and Paul into the back of the squad car and went inside to coax the rest of the patrons out of the bathrooms. Javier exited the restaurant and returned Joe's phone to him before Javier was taken to give his statement. Joe texted Molly saying that they'd been held up and that the restaurant was closed. He suggested Pino's at 2:30 and put his phone back into his pocket. He was considering rescuing Javier from the zealous rookie who looked to be attempting to get his life story, when he saw the News crews pulling up.

Mo started banging on the squad car door with his head. "Yo it's fucking hot in here, and that cop forgot to turn on the AC. We gonna die."

Joe rolled his eyes and opened the back door, to let some air in. Cooking a prisoner probably counted as police brutality, and it would be bad if it wound up on TV.

"Yo, what's up with your woman? She sick or something?" Mo asked.

"Nope," Joe said, "Her stalker blew up her place yesterday. We thought she was inside, but thankfully that intel wrong."

"Shiiit," Mo said. "That's a bad day."

"Yep," Joe said.

"Thanks for being so decent," Mo said.

"Well, I was trying to impress her dad," Joe said. "I think this probably did the trick."

"That dude you was with is her daddy?" Mo asked.

"Yep," Joe said. Mo leaned out of the car and looked at Javier across the parking lot. He whistled, "Damn. You got big ones, don't you? I'd be shitting myself if I had to look The Mexican Mountain in the eye after banging his little girl."

"Nice," Joe said. "And he's Cuban. Now sit back."

Mo didn't sit back, he stood up as best he could while chained to the back of the squad car. "Yo Grandpa Chippendale!" He shouted, and Javier actually turned. "This dude did real good in there!"

"Thanks for the endorsement," Joe said, "Get back in the fucking car."


	16. Chapter 16

**_AN: Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. I hope you enjoy this latest installment!_**

Lucien had been back to New York. They knew he had because a process server had located him the day Molly's store blew up to inform him of the hearing over the restraining order. It was just more motive towards the arson. If he showed up to court for the hearing, he'd be detained for questioning, and he probably knew it, which is why, on September 10th Molly was sitting next to a lawyer Joe knew, looking at an empty table across the aisle.

Her lawyer's name was Mike Soules, and he went to school with Joe. He was sporting a dad bod, and dimples, with slightly thinning hair and tired eyes. He had taken Molly's case as a favor to Joe, and he was currently reading through some documents for another client while they waited for the clerk to come back, telling them where the hell Lucien's attorneys were at least. They had been waiting for an hour while he made phone calls.

The clerk finally returned and handed the judge a note, the judge asked him a question, and the aide shrugged his shoulders. The judge rolled his eyes and straightened up in his chair.

"So it would seem Mr. Brasseau has terminated his legal counsel and they had assumed that he had other representation. My clerk has been trying to track them down, and they are from a law firm that doesn't exist. Mr. Brasseau is FTA; I'm issuing a bench warrant for his arrest, and we'll proceed without him."

Molly frowned, he wasn't out on bail, he wasn't FTA, was he?

"Your honor I would like to present to you some video obtained by Rangeman Securities, documenting interactions between my Client and Mr. Brasseau," Mike said.

It took about twenty minutes before the judge waved his hand. The judge watched the videos without commenting, and then looked at Molly.

"Anything else?" The Judge asked.

"Yes, this sworn statement by Miss Von G's landlord, regarding the arson that devastated her home and store."

The judge read it, and shuffled through some papers on his desk, "Interesting," he said. "Miss Von G, when did you start dating Detective Morelli?"

"We met on the fourth of July, your honor," Molly said.

"What happened on the fifth?" he asked.

"I went home, and then he picked me up, and we went back to his place to eat his mother's pasta and watch baseball."

"The sixth?"

"That's when he took me to the hospital and discovered that my foot was broken."

"Did anything else of significance to your relationship happen that day?"

"He asked me to stay with him, and we umm that's when we first umm... consummated the relationship."

"But you'd spent two nights there already?" the judge said.

"Third date?" Molly said.

"What about July 12th?"

"Joe took me to a Mets game, and that's where Lucien approached us at the ballpark."

"20th?"

"I don't know," Molly said. She looked at Mike Soules.

"Is it possible there is something in your calendar that might jog your memory?"

She picked up her phone from the table in front of her. She scrolled back to July 20th and frowned. "Oh, I got my air cast, and didn't actually need help moving around anymore, so Joe came to stay at my place for the first time."

"And the day before the bombing?" he asked.

"Joe gave me a dresser," Molly said.

"He gave you a dresser? For your place?"

"No," she said, "For his."

"Is there any possible way, anyone at all could have known that?"

"Yes," Molly said. "He would have needed help bringing it out of the basement, and he would have worked on it in the driveway. He invited his mother over to help him press my laundry, and if he called her while she was talking to a friend, I'm sure she'd mention it. It's the Burg so..."

"I'm familiar with their gossip network. They don't need social media there."

"No," Molly said with a chuckle.

"Does Detective Morelli sleep with the windows open?"

"Not anymore," Molly said.

"Why?" The judge asked.

"His vents weren't properly balanced before, and his bedroom either got uncomfortably cold with the central air on, or it got ridiculously hot with the furnace running."

"That's not a problem now?"

"No," Molly said. "My father is a retired HVAC repairman. He helped Joe move some air ducts in the basement for our renovation and then balanced the vents in the house. Now the bedroom is comfortable."

"I see," The judge said. "And when was this?"

"The week after the fire," Molly said.

"Good enough for me," the judge said. "What happened May the 10th?"

"I've no idea," Molly said, shaking her head. He nodded to her phone, and she scrolled through it, looking for something. "Nothing happened on the 10th."

"What about in the week before?"

She scrolled through. "Oh, I was supposed to have a date."

"Supposed to?"

"I got stood up," Molly said. "We were going to go to a movie, but he never showed up."

"Did you know this person well?"

"He was the delivery driver for my flower supplier," she said. "We'd been sort of building up to a date for weeks. Texting a lot, that sort of thing."

"Did you like him?"

"I did," she said. "He seemed normal."

"But then he stood you up."

"And he blocked my number and stopped delivering to my store. I had to find a new supplier."

The judge shook his head, "And you've applied for a Restraining Order before and been denied?"

"I was told I was attempting to dodge making alimony payments, and that it was a nuisance claim and that I'd face contempt of court charges if I tried to do it again."

"Yet you are here," the Judge said.

"He scares me," she said. "We are afraid to leave our dog home alone or to feed him anything but food I've prepared because the last time we left him alone, someone poisoned him. I..." The judge held up his hand, and she stopped speaking.

"I'm convinced, Miss Von G. I'm granting your restraining order."

"You are?" she said in disbelief.

"I am. Mr. Soules, I'd like to see you in chambers," he said.

Molly nodded, and they all rose while the judge retired to chambers, and the bailiff escorted Molly out of the courtroom, to a waiting Joe.

"So?"

"It's… he granted it. It's a permanent restraining order. Lucien fired his lawyers, and…" she blinked and looked absolutely stunned. Joe smiled and pulled her into a big hug.

"That's good news," Joe said. He almost didn't believe it himself. They'd closed the courtroom, and it had taken so long, that Joe was convinced that they were going to get shot down. When Molly had walked out, she was pale, and he was sure it was bad news. Turns out she was just in shock.

"I… Can't believe this," she said with a laugh of disbelief.

"Where's Mike?" Joe asked. "What did he do to convince the judge?"

"He hardly said anything," she said. "We sat there for an hour waiting for Lucien's attorneys to show up, which they didn't, and then the judge said that he was issuing a bench warrant for Lucien's arrest for failure to appear. I thought he couldn't do that unless Lucien skipped bail?"

"He ignored a court summons," Joe said. "The charge will be for contempt of court."

"Oh," Molly said. "So a fine?"

"I dunno," he said, "He'll probably spend at least a night in jail. You didn't answer my question though, where is Soules?"

"The judge wanted to see him in chambers," Molly said. "I think we're supposed to wait."

They waited for a little over half an hour before Mike appeared.

"So that happened," Mike said.

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Judge Flint asked me back to his chambers because he's fucking livid. He sees what happened to Molly as a severe miscarriage of justice, and he wanted to know why you hadn't appealed the decisions made by the courts in regards to your alimony payments. He said it's financial and legal bullying and he will not stand for it."

"What did you say?"

"I told them that you had tried and were told you weren't eligible for an appeal, which is utter bullshit by the way, and that after the fire, the Feds have begun a criminal investigation. He made me wait while he got an update."

"Does he know I'm involved?" Joe asked.

"I said as much, but he ignored me. You'll be finding this out later, but

yesterday, the Federal Prosecutor brought Molly's divorce before a Grand Jury."

"I'm sorry?" Molly said.

"Do you know what Full Faith and Credit is?"

"It says that if you get married or divorced in one state, that the state you move to is legally obligated to accept your rights as a married or divorced couple," Molly said.

"It doesn't just extend to marriage, but that's the gist of it. Your relationship with Brasseau was a formalized common law marriage."

"I know. We did it so Lucien could move the US under a spousal visa," Molly said. "And our relationship had to be dissolved by a court because of it."

"No it didn't," Soules said. "If you'd been married married, then yes, you would have to be divorced. I'm not sure what the rules are in Germany for terminating the partnership, but full faith and credit only extends to the States. It doesn't necessarily apply to foreign partnerships."

"What do you mean?" Molly said.

"I mean if you had formed a formal common-law marriage, in a state that recognizes common-law marriage, then you would have to divorce your spouse before you could remarry or you could conceivably face bigamy charges. But you did it out of the country," he said. "It was up to the judge's discretion whether or not you required a divorce, and should you have done so, it should have been straightforward."

"What?" Molly said. "That's not what they told me. They told me that it was different and complicated because it was foreign, and…"

"It wasn't. There were a lot of things you were told that we're utter bullshit," Soules said.

"What does this have to do with a Grand Jury?" Joe asked.

"There was a lot of dirty dealing in Molly's divorce. The Grand Jury has brought charges against Judges Weston and Clark, mostly for accepting bribes and conspiracy to commit fraud in regards to Molly's case. Lucien is facing bribery and fraud charges, just to get started. What that means for you, is that effective immediately you are to cease and desist all payments to Brasseau, and all of his US accounts have been frozen."

"Yeah but what if he gets off?" Molly said, "Am I going to get hit with a bunch of back payments? And are we divorced?"

"You're divorced," he said. "That isn't in dispute. Nor is the sale of Von G. You have paid all of the necessary taxes, you don't owe anything more to the company, etc. You've severed ties with him. Done. You also aren't going to get hit with a ton of back payments. There is a shitload of evidence against him, and Judge Clark has already confessed to the bribery. This part of it is over Molly. You owe him nothing."

"What about everything she's paid him?" Joe asked. "Is she going to get any of that back?"

"I highly doubt it," Mike said. "I'm going to try, but I honestly have no idea. It's going to depend a lot on where he put the money. I might, and I have to stress this, might, be able to get you the condo, and maybe his car, but I think that's going to be a long shot."

"Why?" Molly asked.

"Because he took out a lot of loans in your name," Mike said. "Those Creditors are going to want their money back, and…"

"I paid them all back," Molly said. "I took everything I had from the sale of Von G to do it."

"He…I don't know how to say this… He took out a loan in your name, to buy Von G from you."

"What?" Molly said.

"He forged documents in your name. It's a substantial loan, so the bank is going to want as much of it as possible, back. He's either going to have to cough up some so far undisclosed offshore accounts, or he's going to have to declare bankruptcy. The bank will probably call the loan and take the condo before that happens."

"How?" Molly asked.

"He used it and Von G as collateral for the loan."

"That's not what I mean," Molly said. "I mean how was he able to get a damned loan?"

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"I mean, I couldn't get a fucking five-thousand dollar credit card without a co-signer after everything. How was Lucien able to get a loan substantial enough to buy me out?"

"I don't know," Mike said.

"He is being charged with bribery," Joe said. "It's not like the loan officer at the bank was taking money out of his own pockets to give Lucien the money. It's more than likely that he paid them off."

"I'm sure they are looking into it," Mike said.

"I'm not liable to make those payments now though, am I?" Molly asked. "I can't afford a loan payment that big. I just can't."

"No," Mike said. "They have the proof of the identity theft, and the bank is not coming after you, which is why I might be able to get you the condo, but I don't want you to count on it."

Molly nodded.

"Lucien is going away," Mike said. "I promise you. For how long, I don't know yet. It depends on what they dig up. I'm going back to my office to get started untangling your Civil interests in this case. It's going to take a while, Molly; this could drag out for years."

"I can't afford a legal case that long," Molly said.

"We'll work out something percentage based and contingent on you getting anything at all. If you get nothing, I get nothing, okay? Let me look at what you stand to possibly get, and I'll work on some numbers okay? We'll talk next week."

"Okay," Molly said.

"Thanks, Mike," Joe said.

Molly watched Mike walk away, and she sat down hard on the bench outside of the courtroom. She felt dizzy without the financial burden on her shoulders. There was no windfall of money coming from Lucien, but knowing that she didn't have to save every single penny coming in because she didn't know how long it was going to take for her business to become established again after the fire, that was fucking wonderful. She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. It was the first victory in a really fucking long time, and she didn't know what she was supposed to feel.

"This is good news," Joe said, and she looked up at him, and nodded dumbly. He took her hands and dragged her to her feet. "Come on. Let me buy you lunch, and then I'll take you over to the new store."

By the time they got to the restaurant, she was out of shock but still feeling weird, like she had no idea what the hell she was going to do. Her stomach felt a little queasy, so she ordered something light, and picked at it while Joe dug into his meatball sub.

"Waiting for the other shoe?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I really am. I wasn't expecting that at all."

"The feds are only on him because he blew up your store," Joe said. "I really doubt we'd have gotten anywhere with this if he hadn't."

"An unexpected silver lining, I guess," Molly said.

"And it's good to know that you can legally get married," Joe said.

She chuckled, "Do you have any idea how fucking pissed off I would be if, after all of that bullshit, I was still legally attached to Lucien?"

"Monumentally pissed off?" Joe asked.

"Monumentally pissed off would be how I would describe myself after I calmed down from a temper tantrum the size of a super volcano," Molly said.

His phone rang on the table, and he answered it. Molly could tell from his face that it was work, and he was about to abandon their lunch. She flagged their waitress for a takeaway container and packed up Joe's lunch while he was getting the details of the crime scene. He disconnected and came around to Molly's side of the booth. He kissed her forehead, and she smiled. "That's all I get?"

"I'm being courteous," he said. "There was a lot of garlic in the marinara. I'll kiss you properly later tonight. We have a lot to celebrate."

She grabbed his t-shirt and yanked him down for a proper kiss. When he pulled away, she was laughing. "You were right. Wow. You'll be able to keep vampires away for at least an hour."

"I warned you," he said. He kissed Molly again, and she pushed him away. "Tell you what Sweetheart, if you're still stressed tonight, I'll do everything in my power to help you relax."

"That isn't exactly going to inspire relaxation," she said with a laugh.

"Want me to send you raunchy texts all day to keep you really wound up?"

"Yes, please," Molly said.

"I'll see what I can do," he said. "I'll try not to be too late."

"I don't care about that," she said, "I just want you home safe and preferably horny. Now go catch bad guys."

"Yes ma'am," he said. They kissed goodbye one more time before he picked up his lunch and left.

Molly watched him walk away and bit her lip, still grinning.

When he was out of sight, she picked up her own phone and almost called Mary, or Angie because she wanted someone to hang out with, and instead dialed Ella.

"Hello Molly," Ella said. "This is a pleasant surprise. Did you need something?"

"I'm having a weird day, and I wondered if you might want to go shopping with me for kitchen stuff."

"What kind of kitchen stuff?"

"I'm undecided," Molly said.

"Sure," Ella said, "Where are you now?"

"I'm at Pino's eating my lunch alone because Joe had to go to work."

"I just have to finish up some laundry here, and then I'll come to pick you up."

"JigSaw can bring me to you," Molly said.

"Nonsense," Ella said. "I'm just putting Stephanie's laundry away, and I'll be there in ten minutes."

They were in Crate and Barrel looking at table napkins an hour later when they ran into Mary. "Molly!" Mary said, "I'm so glad to see you!"

Mary sounded breathless like she'd been looking for Molly for ages, and just tracked her down to the Crate and Barrel.

"What's up?" Molly asked, keeping her voice neutral. If it were about Joe, she'd have heard from Eddie, or Shirley first, so this probably had to do with the store. It was probably the other shoe.

"I was having lunch with Angie and my mom," she said, "And we were discussing Football."

"You know it's really confusing that Tony married someone with the same name as your mother, right?" Molly said.

"Not really since we all call my mom, mom," Mary said. "Anyway, that's not important."

"What's important?" Molly asked.

"Every Sunday during football season we get together to watch football and eat. It's like an all-day thing."

"I know," Molly said. "Joe and I missed the first game because we were at his boss's place for dinner."

"Uh huh," she said. "So usually it goes oldest to youngest as far as who hosts and when. But because your house is undergoing renovations, and with the fire and everything, we decided that it should be at Tony and Angie's first."

"Uh huh," Molly said. "Which gives us until Mid October until we have to host. I know this."

"No it doesn't," Mary said.

"What do you mean, 'no it doesn't?" Molly asked.

"Okay so here's the deal," Mary said. "I'm supposed to host next Sunday, but I can't because my friend Nora is having a c-section Sunday morning. I'm supposed to be driving her because her husband's leave was canceled, so he's not going to be able to make it back for the birth."

"I can't switch with you," Molly said. "I have half a backyard, and my house is covered in plastic until the renovations are done."

"I know," Mary said. "Which is why I switched with my sister Catharine."

"Okay," Molly said. "So we're going to Catharine's house next weekend."

"No," Mary said. "You're going to Paul and his wife Marne's house."

"Why?" Molly asked.

"Well see I called Cat because Cat never says, 'no' when people ask her for things. After Cat said yes, she realized that she couldn't because her daughter is in a gymnastics competition that weekend, so she called Paul and Marne and asked her if they'd switch."

"Okay," Molly said. "Cool. Thanks for letting me know."

"That's not all," Mary said. "See Paul and Marne switched on the condition that Cat took their October date in exchange for Thanksgiving. They want to knock out the wall between their kitchen and dining room, and October is the perfect time to do it because one of their friends is willing to let them borrow their house for it while they are in Costa Rica for the month. They understandably don't want to host Football in their friends' home given how crazy our family can get with all of the kids and Bella putting curses on everyone and everything she doesn't like."

"That sounds fair I guess," Molly said. "So let me get this straight, it was supposed to go, Joe, Tony, you, Paul and Catharine."

"Yes," she said.

"But then because of the renovations, the fire, and the store and everything, it was supposed to be Tony, you, Paul, Catharine, Us."

"Yes," Mary said.

"But now it's Paul, Catharine, you, us and then Tony again."

"No," Mary said.

"Okay I'm fucking lost," Molly said. Ella nudged Molly for swearing but nodded her agreement.

"Because I'm not done yet; see Tony is going on vacation with his family on the 10th, and he's not back until just before Halloween. So I'm after you guys."

"Mary, I'm getting a headache."

"But that still gives her until mid-October until she has to host," Ella said.

"Well no it doesn't," Mary said.

"Why?" Molly asked.

"Because I realized that it put me hosting on the same weekend as the wedding, then I'd have a weekend off and then have to host again, and I can't really afford to do it twice in one month. Because even with it being a potluck, it's still kind of expensive. So I called Cat and asked her if we could switch again so I could split it up. I mean two months in a row I can budget, but twice in one month is pushing it. So she said that we should just switch weekends again for the first rotation."

"Okay," Molly said. "That makes sense, but it doesn't change anything for me."

"And you're now more or less back where you started, except you and Paul have traded places," Ella said.

"You followed that?" Molly said. "I'm impressed, Ella."

"Dear I handle the vacation schedule at Rangeman. This is nothing by comparison."

"Can you just email me where I'm supposed to bring my tarts on Sunday?" Molly asked.

"Oh, you're making Tarts?" Ella asked. "Do you have time to do some extra strawberry rhubarb ones?"

"For Ric?"

"Stephanie," Ella said. "Ric refused to share the pie from the reception and locked it in his fridge in his office. She's been quietly pouting for weeks."

"Sure," Molly laughed. "I'll bake some extra. Why not, it's not like I don't have time on my hands this week."

"Molly," Mary interrupted, "I haven't finished yet."

"Okay?" Molly said.

"Cat is taking some college classes this fall, and she just got her midterm schedule. All of her exams fall on her first weekend to host, so she called Angie and asked her if she'd take the First Sunday in October and Angie said sure. Then Angie realized she has another commitment, so she asked Tony if your basement was probably going to be done soon, and Tony said that if all went according to plan, they'd have the plastic down next Wednesday. So she called Joe and asked him if they'd switch weekends," Mary said.

"And Joe said, 'No fucking way,' because I'm doing the biggest wedding of my career that weekend, my store opens on the Monday after, and I really don't need the added stress."

"Well as far as he knew Angie and Tony weren't hosting until November, so he said sure. I asked her if she told him that we'd switched and she said she couldn't remember if she told him or not. So I called Tony, who was there for the conversation and he swears she didn't."

"Mary! I can't do it that weekend!" Molly shouted. Ella nudged her to keep her voice down, and Molly lowered the volume to an intense whisper, "I don't have a useable backyard, the plastic will be down, but the basement won't be ready. We live in a tiny row house, we're not going to be able to cram everyone into the kitchen and family room. Plus I don't have time to get the house ready and cook for the fucking horde that weekend, and you know that, because you work for me and you're going to be as busy as I am."

"It's potluck. We'll do paper plates, and you can do dessert, and nobody will say a damn thing if you get it from the bakery. I'll make sure everyone knows that you don't have the time."

"Mary!" Molly said. "You have to get someone to switch with me."

"I can't," Mary said. "I tried. I've just spent all of lunch trying to do that, but nobody can. Everyone else has already made commitments for those dates, and…"

"We'll have to skip it then," Molly said. "I really can't do it."

Mary stared at her, utterly aghast. "We can't skip it. Do you have any idea what Bella will do if we skip it?"

"Well can your mom host for me?"

"I tried that before I called Angie to switch and mom's doing stuff with the church all weekend. She's probably not even going to be able to be there on that Sunday. I'm really sorry Molly. Look, don't tell mom that we've screwed you like this. She's really looking forward to you hosting, and she'll be devastated if she knows that you're going to be stressed about this. She really wants you to feel welcome."

"Mary," Molly said, "Am I being hazed?"

"No. No. I promise you, you're not being hazed. It's just really bad timing."

Mary looked at her watch, and she jumped. "Crap, I have to go. I'll see you at the store tomorrow."

Molly stared after her, and when Mary was gone, Molly turned to Ella and stomped her foot. "I'm totally being hazed!"

"Yes dear," Ella nodded. "She's a terrible liar. That story was far too convoluted to be the truth."

"I don't wanna be hazed," Molly whined. "Do you know how many times I've been hazed? Like in every new boarding school."

Ella patted Molly's hand sympathetically. "The good news is, you've plenty of experience with this."

"It's super annoying," she grumbled. "And it was shaping up to be an okay kind of day, too. Now I have to worry about this."

"I'd call Joseph if I were you."

"I can't tell Joe," Molly said, "He'll lose his fucking cool, and he's got a lot on his plate right now."

"More than usual?" Ella asked.

"There's a bad flu making the rounds," Molly said. "Half of the force is at home nursing fevers."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Lean heavily on my wonderful tia Ella to help me get through that weekend."

"No dear," Ella said. "Because if you just get through that weekend, then they are going to do it to you again when Joseph puts a ring on your finger. You have to find some subtle means of fighting back, and nipping this in the bud now."

"Well, will you help me?"

"Naturally," Ella said. "Now leave it for the moment, and look at these table linens. Aren't they pretty?"

Molly looked at the napkins Ella was holding and shrugged. "They are okay," Molly said. "Do you know what I wish I still had? The linens I bought in Provence with Lucien's mom. They were perfect."

"They were lovely," Ella agreed. "Really lovely. Do you know I think I still get that store's catalog?"

"Do you?" Molly asked. "I'd completely forgotten who made them."

"You sent me a different pattern for Christmas that year, and I signed up for their catalog. It's where I order Ric's sheets and towels from."

"Cool," Molly said.

"Yes, and there were some lovely patterns this season."

"Maybe I'll order some," Molly said. "With any luck, they will be here by Christmas."

"Don't be silly, your shipping costs would be ridiculous. It would be less expensive to get them mailed to the Colonel, and then he can send them over."

"And he'd pay for the shipping," Molly said. Ella nodded. "Maybe that's what I'll do."

"Well let's see if we can find anything you like here first. I mean these ones are quite nice." Ella picked up a rusted orange and mustard yellow plaid with embossed leaves on it. It was very autumn and quite pretty. Molly fingered the napkin and frowned at the weight.

"I know, and I agree, but every time I shop for table linens, I think about the ones I bought with Lucien's mom and are now a pile of ashes. They were so bright, and friendly, but classic and not garish. They were easy to clean, and they were unique. They kind of…" Molly stopped mid-thought and looked at Ella.

"Kind of what?" Ella asked, and proposed a plum colored napkin instead.

"They set the bar, really high. Ella…"

Ella's usual Mary Poppins demeanor dropped for a moment, and her inner Machiavelli surfaced. She put the plum napkin down and grinned.

"Let's go look at that catalog. Maybe you can convince your father to pull some strings to get them put on a military transport, so they don't get held up in customs."

"It's not going to take much convincing," Molly said, "He hates hazing. As long as we have a sound strategy, he'll hook us up."

 _AN: I have absolutely zero legal expertise and any advice in this chapter or any other chapter has been gleaned entirely from what I could find on Wikipedia and the odd free legal advice website I've discovered while Googling. So if you are a lawyer and I'm totally out to lunch with anything in this or subsequent chapters, just chalk it up to artistic license. ;)_


	17. Chapter 17

_**AN: I'm going to be posting a few chapters this week. This is the second one, it's a bit fluffy, and hey look! There's some mild smut to kick it off! Please enjoy responsibly.**_

It was a little after six, and dark out, the sky just thinking about brightening, when Molly woke up and stretched. Joe, who had been laying with a hand casually draped on her hip, adjusted her, so that he had her in a possessive two armed, grip, with a leg draped over hers for good measure.

"Absolutely not," he said. "The yard looks fucking fantastic. The house is fine. If my family makes one comment, I'll tell them all to fuck off."

After Ella and Molly formulated a plan to combat the hazing and did some research, Molly borrowed her nephew Carlos and dragged him to the house to act as muscle. Between the two of them, and Joe when he was home, they got the yard whipped into shape in a couple of days. She dug flower beds, planted bulbs, and laid smooth pebble paths around the perimeter of the backyard. Every plant was pet safe, and Molly even built a dog house from a kit she bought online. In the spring she'd plant more than just bulbs, but for now, the yard would be sufficient for Joe's family to spill over into so the house wasn't so damned crowded on Sunday.

Inside the house, she helped in the basement, laying tile in the new powder room, taping and sanding drywall, and painting, basically, whatever was needed.

When she wasn't doing that, or choosing furniture for the basement with Joe, she was at her new store, on its new project floor, where she ruined her manicure silk screening yard after yard of pale, almost white, green silk, with a variety of brilliantly colored flowers, as part of the preparation for the wedding. She'd reached a roadblock about what she could do until the flowers were delivered, so her plans for the day included confirming an early delivery for the next day, and organizing trucks to pick up if they couldn't deliver. Then she was going to unpack her store.

Her stock was being delivered, and she wanted to organize it, and maybe put together a few arrangements. She was going to worry about making it pretty on Monday. She just wanted to make sure that they were ready to go in the event that Cam's wedding generated a couple of customers. It shouldn't take her all day with Mary there to help; Molly figured her afternoon would be spent making pastry. All of that meant that she had absolutely no reason to wake up at 6:00, except one.

"Actually," Molly said, snuggling back against him. "I woke up because of you."

"Was I snoring?" he mumbled.

"Nope," she said, and reached under the blankets, "This was rather difficult to ignore."

He laughed softly, and kissed the back of her neck, his own hands now exploring under the covers.

Joe was back to shift work, and he'd worked nights the week before and hated it. Molly brought him dinner at work, and if he was in the precinct, they would eat together. If he wasn't, because he was out at a crime scene, she would leave it in the fridge in the break room. Joe appreciated the meals because sometimes they were the only time they saw each other out of bed. When he worked days, it was better.

They'd wake up together, he'd make breakfast, and nine times out of ten, they would end up showering together. Then, if she was going to her store, he'd drop her off on his way to the precinct, and if he didn't swing by with lunch, he'd call her on his lunch break. Working nights, he felt like they never saw each other. She rolled with it though, and the calls in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be off duty. She wouldn't be human if she didn't mind it when he had to cut a meal short. He'd see her disappointment, but it was without censure. It was his job, and the weird hours were all part of it.

Bob had completely defected and usually went with Molly wherever she went. He slept at her feet in her office; he rode with her when she went to her suppliers; when Joe came home at night to find Molly in the kitchen, Bob would be waiting, barely patiently, for her to slip him some food. She always did.

She'd just dropped back into a post-coital doze when Bob started whining on the floor beside the bed. Joe and Molly both groaned.

"Just once, I'd like him to sleep in a little," Molly said. "I don't want to get dressed yet."

"I'll go," Joe said.

"No," she said. "I'm awake, and you didn't get in until late last night."

"Sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," she said. Joe kissed her and Bob yipped at the foot of the bed. They looked down and saw him staring at them, effectively executing a perfect cock-blocking of round two.

Molly got up and rolled onto her back, "Are you really off today, or are you on-call?" she asked as she pulled on a pair of running capris and a sports bra.

"I'm supposed to be off, but we're down a couple of Detectives right now, so if shit hits the fan, they'll call me."

"I wish I could stay home today," she said. "I like when you have proper days off."

"I could come to the store with you today if you want," he said.

"Nope," she said. "The forecast for Sunday is terrible. Thunderstorms and rain all day. If you get the floor finished in time, the weather will for sure clear up and be warm outside. So that's your mission."

She sat on the bed and started tying her shoe, only to get tackled by Joe, who in turn got playfully attacked by Bob, who needed to go for his morning run.

Molly escaped and ran downstairs, almost getting bowled over by the dog as he barrelled down after her. He danced at the door while she clipped the jogging leash around her waist, and checked for poop bags in the pouch on the lead. After letting Bob run outside to do a preliminary pee on the front lawn while she stretched, she attached his leash to him, and they took off for a run. They would run to the dog park, do a quick lap of it, and then she'd usually let him off of his leash for a little, while he played with his friends, or chased pigeons. Then they'd run back home. All told she'd run about 5K by the time they were finished. Joe ran a similar distance, without a break for the pigeon pursuit, and even if he left after she did, was usually back home before she got there.

When she got to the house, she could smell coffee brewing, and his running shoes were drying on a thing over the vent by the door.

His socks and sweaty t-shirt were in a pile at the foot of the stairs, waiting to go into the laundry, when one of them went up next. He was always starving after a run and got right to eating instead of showering first. She added her socks and tank top to the pile and went to find him in the kitchen, making bacon and eggs.

"Show off," she said, snagging a piece of perfect bacon from the plate next to the stove. She took a bite, hugged him from behind, and kissed his shoulder.

"You're a little gross," she said. "I thought I told you to stay in bed. You weren't supposed to run crazy hard."

"You're one to talk. Did it rain or something? You're drenched."

"It's getting really muggy. I don't think Mother Nature knows it's almost October. It's totally going to storm today. And what do you care anyway, I thought you liked it when I was all sweaty."

"If I'm the one who's made you that way," he said.

"But not now huh?" she said.

"Well, now it's making me think of things that I do that make you sweaty. I'm enjoying the fantasies, but I know for a fact that you won't put out when you feel gross from a run, so ultimately it's just frustrating."

"We had sex like an hour and a half ago."

"Morning sex doesn't count as actual sex."

"Oh, ok," she said dryly.

"No, because you're all business in the morning, and don't get me wrong, I really like it. I would go into a state of deep mourning if you stopped wanting morning sex."

"But?"

"I feel like my game is better when I'm fully awake."

"I thought Detectives were supposed to be smart? Sherlock Holmes is rolling in his fictional grave right now. Then again, given the regard he held the police force, probably he's not all that surprised ."

She shrieked with laughter when he seized her and pressed her up against the doorway to the kitchen. "What's with the gauntlet, Molly? You know I'll rise to any occasion," he said and nipped at her throat.

"Well, if you know I want to shower after a run, and you're looking for round two, why don't you combine the two? I mean I'll be conveniently naked and everything."

"Wet too," he said.

"No comment."

"No, I insist that you comment," he said. He kissed her throat again, this time his tongue flicked out and licked at Molly's pulse. "I really like it when you comment."

"I know how you do," she said. Joe hitched her up the wall, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. "I think you should make me late for work, Detective."

"It'll be my pleasure," he said. Bob barked and went thundering towards the door. Sure enough, a second later the doorbell rang. Joe groaned.

"I'll get the shower running; you get the door," Molly said.

"Don't get started without me," he said.

"Oh, I absolutely intend to," she said. Joe groaned again and flexed his hips. "You don't have to answer the door you know."

"You're right. I don't."

They ran upstairs to the bathroom and were frantically peeling off each other's clothes when the doorbell rang again. He got Molly onto the bathroom counter, thrust into her, and took her into the shower. They stayed there until the water started to get cold, and he took her into the bedroom. He wasn't kidding about doing his best work after he had woken up all of the way.

When they were finished, she was about twenty minutes late for work, and that was perfectly all right with her. She got out of bed, and pulled on a sheer purple lace slip, with the concentration of lace at the hem and just between her breasts. She pulled on a darker purple dress with a plunging neckline, that showed off the lace, and a white blazer with cropped sleeves.

She put her feet into her lucky shoes (a pair of grey suede pumps) and left him naked, on the bed, clearly enjoying what she was wearing.

She wasn't wearing panties, and the thought was going to haunt him all day. She went into the bathroom, and he heard the hairdryer and knew she'd have her bathrobe on over her clothes to protect them from her makeup. When she emerged again, her hair was in a sleek ponytail, and she was wearing simple, but flawless, makeup. She kissed him goodbye and left him there contemplating going back to sleep.

Molly wearing minimal makeup meant she was in a good mood. It was her body armor. Unless it was a special occasion, she only did a more elaborate makeup routine when she was worried or nervous. Today, she was clearly neither.

Joe decided against sleep, and after pulling on a pair of jeans and a beat-up work shirt, went downstairs to the kitchen. Bob had scrambled eggs on his head, and he looked like he had thoroughly enjoyed his breakfast. "I'd be mad, but it's my own fault."

Joe picked a bit off egg off of Bob, and showed it to the dog, "Saving that for later?"

Bob lapped up the egg like he was starving to death and then shook his head, freeing the rest of it, which he then chased around the kitchen. Joe cut up a bagel and put it in the toaster, and then started doing the dishes. He smiled to himself thinking about why Bob had a huge breakfast, while he was eating an everything bagel.

"What do you think Bob? Is it too soon to make an honest woman out of her?"

Bob looked at Joe with his ears perked, and head cocked, trying really hard to understand what Joe was saying. He scratched Bob's head, and the two of them headed to the basement; Bob to nap and Morelli to install the floor and to sit on hold with the furniture delivery people. Joe was hoping that he could convince them to get their asses in gear.

Joe had paid for expedited delivery, and they'd been guaranteed their furniture for September 26th, and then Joe had been informed that a piece of the sectional was damaged and they had to order a new one. Joe had told them to deliver the parts they had, but they weren't allowed to ship a partial order. Joe was refunded for the cost of the expedited shipping, and they were now saying that the furniture wouldn't be available until the 3rd of October. Exactly, one day too late.

Molly was ready to cancel the whole order in favor of going to Ikea and had to be talked down.

Between the wedding, the store, and the impending Morelli invasion, Molly was becoming slowly unglued. He'd decided to call off the Sunday football, fully prepared to fall on his sword for agreeing to the weekend without actually checking the dates, and met unprecedented resistance from both of his sisters and his sisters-in-law. It was going to be the first opportunity for all of them to get to know Molly, and they were starting to get offended because she'd missed all of the games so far in favor of spending Sunday with other people. Did she think that she was too good for them? He ended up spending the conversations defending her, given that one of the weekends was her grandmother's birthday, and the other two had been because he either had to work, or they were dining with his boss.

Joe rounded the corner of the new landing on the basement stairs, and he stopped. Mounted to the wall in the space of his new built-ins that was dedicated to the television, was a ninety-inch flat screen with a large red bow on it. The cable box, PlayStation, and Blu Ray players were in their spaces under it. The stereo system was hooked up and wired in.

On the weekend, he had gone television shopping with Tony. Joe had drooled over this exact television and gone for a sixty inch LED with fewer bells and whistles. Molly questioned it, and he said that his dream TV was out of the budget. So what it was doing in his basement, he had no idea. Well not, no idea. He fished his phone out of his pocket and called Tony. "What's with the TV?"

"Talk to Molly," Tony said, "It was all her idea."

He hung up with Tony and called her, "You can't possibly miss me already," she said.

"I'm in the basement," he said.

"Oh," she said. "My last insurance cheque came in yesterday, and I knew this was the TV you really wanted, and since my TV was part of the claim, and I felt I should buy one, but really have nowhere to put one, I thought, I'd exchange the TV you bought for this one and use the claim cheque for the difference."

"Molly," Joe said, "They seriously underpaid you. You were going to use that money for the business."

"And I am, but I did tell you that I was going to use some of it for personal stuff, and I am."

"You really didn't have to do this," he said.

"I really wanted to," she said. "I know the reason you didn't buy the tv you wanted is that you've been supporting me and it has fucked with your budget. This is me starting to contribute."

He didn't know what to say. Molly's engagement ring was why he didn't get the tv he wanted. It's why he was more than willing to settle for the smaller television. He didn't want her to think for a minute she was a burden. Hell, except for her cell phone bill and car insurance bills, which he was handling because she had no income currently, there had been no real change to his financial circumstances.

"You're adorable, and you're only tangentially the reason why I went for the smaller television. I decided I wanted to redo the kitchen when the basement was finished."

"Really?" she said, perking up, "Okay I was thinking about the kitchen. I know you wanted to make it bigger but that wall you want to knock down is structural, and because it's a row house, you won't be able to add an extension to the back. So I was thinking, we don't need an actual eat-in kitchen. I mean…"

"Molly," Joe said with a laugh, "Stop."

"There are drawings on the dining room table. Tell me what you think, because if there's something you don't like, we can change it. I think we can do it for under fifteen grand. The cabinets are in really good shape, and we should be able to get away with replacing the counters and adding an island. We'll mostly be spending our money on the floors and the appliances."

"You're crazy," he said, he shook his head.

"I had a lot of time on my hands just after the fire."

"I'm going to finish laying this floor. Unless there are other surprises you want to spring on me? Like a pool table or something?"

"Oh, hush; just say thank you," she said.

"No, I prefer to show you what I think of this surprise. It's probably going to involve chocolate syrup."

"I can think of some places I'd like to put chocolate syrup on you…"

Joe grinned. "That's not what I have in mind, but I'm never going to say no to that sort of thinking…"

The doorbell rang again, and he sighed, "Do you want to take a long lunch?"

"Yep," she said, "I've almost finished unpacking these boxes, and then there isn't a whole lot I can do until my suppliers deliver my vases and flowers for the wedding. I can't play tomorrow morning though. Too much to do and not enough time to do it in."

"Do you have help?" Joe asked.

"Mooch has volunteered himself and a pair of his nephews, and Tony is loaning me one of his trucks and himself. We should be good."

The doorbell rang again, and he disconnected with Molly and jogged up the stairs. He opened the door and was surprised to find Stephanie there. "Why didn't you just let yourself in? Don't tell me Ranger didn't give you a new key."

"He did," she said, "Only I was afraid of interrupting what I walked into the house to hear earlier."

Joe grinned, and she slapped him in the chest. "What brings you by Cupcake?" he asked.

"So… here's the deal."

"I already don't like where this is going…"

"Lula…"

"This is going to be good."

"Well, she's neighbors with Joyce. They live on the same block, and I think Joyce is fucking with her."

"Okay…"

"Specifically, I think she's Rear Windowing her," Stephanie said. "Lula has been taking long walks because she has restless leg, and it's been happening a lot at night. Lula swears she saw Joyce burying someone in her backyard a couple of days ago. The next night Lula and Sally went out for another walk, and Joyce was planting these flowers. Lula started wondering why Joyce would be gardening at night in late September. Why would Joyce be gardening at all? She pays someone to do it. So now Lula and Sally are freaked out, but they don't want to call the cops."

"I am a cop."

"Yeah, but Lula says you don't count, and she won't feel like as much of an idiot if you're the one looking into it, and it turns out to be nothing. They begged me to come and talk to you and Lula is really scary right now. I don't want to piss her off."

"Joyce is not going to get her hands dirty burying a body. She'd get some poor schmuck to do it. Like Vinnie."

"Vinnie isn't a poor schmuck. Vinnie's a pestilence. There's a large part of me that's secretly hoping that it's Vinnie turning into compost right now."

"Think he would leave you the Bond's Office?" Joe asked.

"Now there's an idea. The bastard owes me big time. Would it be wrong if I used coercion to get Vinne to leave it to me in his Will?"

"I'll look the other way. Joyce might sue you though. She probably wants everything in his Will."

"Anyway, would you look into it?"

"Why aren't you?" Joe asked.

"Because if I do find a body, people will just assume I planted it there to implicate Joyce."

"I'd probably call and ask you if you did," he agreed. He looked at his watch and sighed. "Give me a minute."

He went upstairs and changed his t-shirt and whistled to Bob. The dog followed him out of the house, to the Jeep, and Stephanie got behind the wheel of a big Mercedes G-Wagen. He'd seen her in a little blue Boxter recently, she must be afraid of it getting murdered by Joyce. The G-Wagen was the more expensive of the cars, but it looked like a tank so unless Joyce was packing a grenade launcher, the G-Wagen was probably safe.

He led the way, and swung by Molly's store, and dropped Bob off. Stephanie stayed in her SUV watching him do his thing. Molly wasn't on site, she was dealing with something else important that had cropped up. What, Tony had no idea, but she was going to a plant store in New York to get something.

Joe drove to Joyce's house, and got out of the Jeep and leaned against the car while Stephanie scaled down the side of the G-Wagen.

"What was that about with Bob?" Stephanie asked.

"Bob doesn't stay home alone anymore. Someone tried to poison him a few months ago."

"Is he okay?"

"He had to go on a special diet. He loves it because he's off kibble and gets his meals cooked for him. Between my mom and my girlfriend, he's getting spoiled."

"How's that going?"Steph asked.

"Good," he said. "Really good. She's a little nutty this week because she has a wedding on Saturday, she's re-opening the Cubed Root on Monday, and I accidentally agreed to do Sunday football at our house this weekend."

"And you're not dead right now?" Stephanie asked.

"Not even close. In fact, she bought me a really big TV with her insurance cheque."

"And she's a kickass cook. She's sort of your perfect woman, isn't she?"

"Yep," he agreed.

Joe pushed off of the Jeep, walked up to the house, and knocked on the door. Joyce answered it and rolled her eyes.

"Did you bury a dead body in your backyard?" Joe asked.

"Nope," Joyce said. "Fat ass was watching the house and it was pissing me off, so I had the guys at the garden center bundle some fertilizer up to look like it was a dead body. When she walked by on her evening constitutional with her binoculars, I put it out on a new flower bed I'm digging."

"You're digging?"

"I'm taking anger management classes, and they say gardening is good for you."

"Can I see this garden?"

"Sure," she said, pleasantly. She smiled at Joe, and he suppressed a shudder. She looked over his shoulder and waved at Stephanie. Joyce put a hand on his arm, and ushered him into the house, standing far too close. They walked through to the back, where he admired her barbecue, and then went to the new garden.

It was about six feet in width, and kidney-shaped. Joyce'd planted bright pink roses in it. "Do you have the name of the garden center you used to get the dirt?"

"Yep, and a witness that it was just a bag full of dirt."

"So I'm not going to find Vinnie under there? Stephanie will be crushed."

"I said it was a bag of dirt, not a dirtbag," Joyce said.

"Who is the witness?" Joe asked.

"My anger management teacher."

She handed him two cards. One for the garden center and one for the class, "Can you plant roses this late in the year?"

"I don't fucking know," Joyce said. "I'm just making a show of going through with the classes, so the judge is happy. I'm not actually putting effort into it."

"Clearly, if you're messing with Lula. In fact, I'm having a hard time believing your story. You're more aggressive-aggressive; you're not exactly the passive-aggressive type."

Joyce shrugged, "She's pregnant, and you can't cuss out a pregnant woman. You'll go to hell. If I'm going to wind up there, I don't want it to be for something stupid like that." The second half of that sentence came out as a predatory purr. "I can think of a lot more fun things I could do to get there, can't you?"

"Sure I can," he said. "But I'm not interested in doing them with you."

"Oh don't be like that," she said. "You know, it's pretty decent of you to come over here, on your day off, to do Stephanie this favor. Especially after everything she put you through. What do you say we go upstairs and get a little revenge?"

"I'm seeing someone," Joe said.

"What she doesn't know, won't hurt her."

"I'm not interested," Joe said.

"Why not?" she asked, with what was supposed to be an alluring pout, "We used to have a lot of fun together. What's changed?"

"Well, for one, I'm not that guy anymore. For another, the last time we slept together was before you fucked Vinnie," Joe said, "Now I'd be afraid of catching bird flu."

He left her spluttering on her back porch and went back to the Jeep. He was about to make a phone call to the garden center when his phone rang in his hand.

He answered it. "Morelli," Joe said.

"I'm going to need you to come in," the Captain said.

"I knew that a day off was too good to be true," Joe said. "What am I looking at?"

"I need to take some emergency leave, effective immediately. I need to get you up to speed with everything before I go."

"I'm not home; it'll take me a little while to get to the station."

"I have a flight at noon."

"I can be there in half an hour," Joe said. He hung up and took pictures of the cards with his phone and texted them to Stephanie.

"What's this?" Stephanie asked when he got to her.

"Call the garden center, and confirm Joyce's story. She says she had them bundle the dirt to look like a body, for a prank. The other guy is there to confirm it was just dirt in the bag when she dumped it. Check the alibi. If you find something funky with it, call Eddie."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "I've gotta run."

"Want me to pick up Bob? I can take him for a few days if you need me to?"

"I'll let you know," Joe said. He got in his car and left.

When he got to the precinct, someone was changing the nameplate on the Captain's office door, and Hodges was emptying personal stuff from the desk.

"Sir," Joe said, "This isn't looking like it's temporary."

"Close the door Morelli," he said. Joe complied and then sat across from the captain at his desk. "Let me get right to it. My daughter has four kids under seven, and her husband has terminal cancer."

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Joe said.

"My wife and I are moving to Maryland to help out. I'm a few months from being eligible for my pension; I had no intention of taking it just yet, but this changes things. I have a lot of leave saved up. I'm taking it."

"How much leave are we talking about?"

"You're Acting as Captain until at least Christmas," he said. "After that, I'll be officially retired, and your position will probably be made permanent. After the incident in the restaurant in Newark, and then the Great Muppet Caper, Juniak has given his stamp of approval for the promotion. The people like you and we need the good press right now, but he wants to make sure you're suited to the post before he makes it official. If you're not, or you don't want it this early in your career, he'll bring someone else in to take over."

"When do I have to make my decision?"

"Probably not until after Thanksgiving."

"Okay," Joe said, "That's good to know."

"Not a bad position to have if you're starting a family," he said.

"It's a bit early to be thinking about that," Joe said.

"Yeah," he said, "But you did buy a ring, so I'm optimistic. Besides, Molly is the type of woman who makes a good cop's wife."

"Yeah," Joe said, "I get that impression, but like I said, it's early. It's only been a couple of months."

"Don't wait too long."

"I won't," Joe said.

"Let me debrief you here so I can hit the road."

"Why the urgency today?" Joe asked.

"He had a stroke," the Captain said.

"Fuck. Give your daughter my best."

Joe sat down opposite the Captain and got up to speed with what was going on in the Precinct. The captain left, and Joe began moving the contents of his desk into the office. At five, Molly strolled in with a fucking weird looking plant and kicked the door closed behind her. The flower (?) had a big orange and yellow bud sticking straight up off of a dark green stem that had spiky leaves jutting off of it. She didn't say anything to him, she just put it down on the bank of filing cabinets, straddled his lap, and proceeded to kiss him.

"Congratulations, Captain Morelli," she said.

"I was going to tell you at dinner tonight," he said.

"Captain Hodges gave me a heads up," she said, "And since then, nine people have called me."

"What the hell is with the plant?"

"Office warming present."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"It's a rare orchid I had to drive all of the way to New York to get. It should bloom at Christmas, and then it will die. It's a super finicky plant, and kind of a pain in the ass to take care of."

"Why did you give it to me then?" he asked.

"Because it means that I'll have to come in here once a week to tend to it, and it's an excuse to have lunch with you. If you're still Captain after Christmas, I'll bring you something that will last longer. If you're not, you don't have to worry about trying to find a space on your desk for a plant."

"So you're giving me a plant as an excuse to see me?"

"I'm making hay while the sun shines, and if you're going to have relatively regular hours, I'm going to take as much advantage of them as I can to spend maximum time with you until you go back to shift work."

"I'm still going to have to work late; probably a lot."

"Which is why I'm giving you a plant you won't be able to take care of."

His phone rang, and he leaned over to answer it. He added an appointment to his calendar and hung up the phone. He had a meeting with the Chief of Police to discuss his promotion and the likely permanence of it. He looked around the office. Frosted windows, and Captain in gold on the door. It was his office. He grinned. "It's pretty fucking cool."

"When are you finished tonight?" Molly asked.

"Probably not until six," he said.

"Then I am going to make you something special for dinner, and we're going to celebrate."

"Don't do anything, Molly. Maybe when he officially retires after Christmas. These are hardly the circumstances…"

"Which is why we're going to do it quietly," she said, "It sucks that he's retiring early because of his son-in-law, but that doesn't mean that you are any less deserving of the promotion. You're getting this because you passed the exam and because you have been able to step up when he's had to leave over the last few months. Not to mention you're a damned good cop. You've earned it, Joseph Morelli."

"You know what my favorite food is…"

"I know," she said.

"It's your cooking kryptonite."

"I know, and I've figured out a way around it," she said.

"Oh?"

"Your mom is going to cook the pancetta," she said. He chuckled and kissed her, tangling his fingers in her hair. She grinned against his mouth and kissed him back.

"I love you," he said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really glad you broke your foot and had to move in."

She giggled and kissed him again, "I was thinking the same thing this morning in the shower."

He thought about what the Captain said about her. He liked coming home and finding her there. She knew when it hadn't been a great day at work, and she didn't try to fix it. She knew he needed to just space out to try and get some distance from it. She usually just curled up next to him on the sofa and watched whatever sport he happened to tune into. He couldn't talk about some of it because he just couldn't bring himself to think about it anymore. She got that.

Then there were mornings like this one, where her happiness was infectious. Joe liked that his first thought when he was offered the job was that he would have more regular hours, which meant more time with Molly and that there would be fewer nights of slipping into bed while she was asleep, and more nights where they would go to bed together.

"I have a problem, and I need your help," he said.

"What's that?" she asked.

"I have to fill out all of these forms, and you need to go on them."

"Okay," she said, "Why?"

"Because you live with me."

"Okay, so what's the problem?"

"I can't spell your last name," he said.

"That's okay; neither can I half of the time. Why do you think I'm Molly Von G?"

"Well these are legal documents, so your name really needs to be spelled correctly."

"Want me to put it on a post-it for you?" she asked.

"I have a better idea," he said.

"I'm not doing your paperwork for you," she said. Joe grinned and reached into his desk drawer.

"I was thinking you should change it to Morelli."

He picked up the ring box and handed it to her. "W-what?"

"I was going to wait, but I don't see the point. You're my girl, and I want to make it stick."

"What did you just say?" she said.

"I'm asking you to marry me, Molly," He said, laughing. She looked like she was about to cry, but he was reasonably sure it wasn't because she was about to say no.

"Who told you to say that?" she asked. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and her question caught in her throat, as a tear leaked out.

"To propose to you? Pretty much anyone who has seen us together since the day we met."

"No, about making it stick. Who told you?"

"Nobody, I was going for off the cuff," he said. She suddenly started laughing and crying at the same time. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, thoroughly. When she stopped, it was to envelop him in a tight hug.

"What did I do?"

"Oh everything just right," she said. "It's exactly what I'd... I..." She seemed lost for words, and she kissed him again.

"I'm confused. Is this a yes?"

"Oh god yes, it's a yes!" she said. She tried to open the box to look at the ring, but her hands were shaking too much. He took the box from her and slid the ring onto her finger. The second it was in place, he was flooded with a strange combination of relief and happiness. Molly dashed some tears from her cheeks before she used her free hand to hold the trembling one still so she could look at her ring. She let out a little laugh of joy and then kissed Joe again.

"Please tell me what I did?" Joe asked. Yes, she was happy, but there was something else going on, and he needed to know what it was.

"When I was a little girl my favorite story was how my dad and Lester proposed to mom and me," Molly said, "Dad used to say that he and Lester decided one day that we were their girls and they needed to make it stick. For the longest time, I thought that's what he actually said, and it was how guys were supposed to propose marriage. When mom told me what he really said, it was sweet, but I was a bit disappointed, and always preferred the other story."

"Damn. I'm fucking good," Joe said.

"You really are," she said and looked at her hand. "And this is beautiful."

"It's why I opted for the smaller tv," he said.

"You must really love me to give up a massive television for me."

"Without question," he said.

"Does my current name really need to go on some forms?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Do you want me to write it on a Post-It?"

He grinned, "It would probably be a good idea."


	18. Chapter 18

_**AN: Thanks again for your reviews, and I hope you keep on enjoying the story!**_

She looked at her ring in the light of her shop window again, and she grinned. She was probably as happy as she had ever been. She had been daydreaming all morning, and she really needed to snap out of her haze. An occupational hazard of her business was frequently planning her own dream wedding. Over the years she'd dreamed up a lot of different themes and designs that she would more often than not end up implementing for someone else's day. Now that she was getting married, and planning her wedding for a second time, she had nothing. She was completely blank.

All she kept thinking about was the church and Joe. She didn't want to elope, because she had been to over a hundred weddings, and wanted to be in that bubble she saw brides in with their new husbands. She wanted that bit of perfect. She wanted to see the look on Joe's face when she walked down the aisle. Every groom was different; some cried, some smiled, some looked nervous, some awestruck. In Molly's imagination, Joe's smile would be just a little smug, and a lot sexy as hell. She was having trouble picturing him in a tux though. He owned exactly one suit and he said he looked like a pit boss when he wore it, so he never did. He wasn't exactly the formal wear type.

Two massive white pickup trucks pulled into the lot outside of her shop, forcing her to leave her contented contemplation. They were loaded to the gills with things labeled fragile, and Tony unloaded the boxes into the workroom. The walls in the main store were a creamy yellow, the floors were bleached cork, the cabinetry was all pale pine. She had pot lights instead of fluorescent lights because she liked it better, and it helped her get a better feel for her flowers. Then there was her bank of glass-doored fridges now stuffed full of flowers in labeled and color-coded buckets, waiting for the store to open on Monday.

Mary was in the workroom, waiting for instructions. Molly had about one hundred arrangements that needed to be done, in a day, and then loaded into a cooler truck to be taken out to Princeton. Mary was going to work for Molly full time so Molly's fifteen hour days could stop, and because Saturdays were likely going to be her busiest day at the store, she'd have an extra set of hands. Not to mention most people got married on Saturdays, and Molly had been losing money because she had to close the shop when she had a wedding. With Mary there, that wouldn't be a problem.

For this job, Molly was going to have to be at the barn no later than six am, the next morning. The more they could have finished before she got there, the better. She went to the garage bays, kicked off her heels, and shoved her feet into a pair of peach floral Crocs. They were ugly as sin, but she didn't want to risk her good shoes given everything they would be doing. She opened a box and removed one of the centerpieces. Each one of her work tables had a small sink in them with a hose for filling up larger vases. She filled up half of the arrangement, primed it, and tested it.

She grinned; a little simple-mechanics and this would add a little interest to the tables. The bride had been charmed by the idea, and Molly now had to test fifty different, small glass, Perpetual Heron fountains. Assuming they worked, people would be encouraged to play with them at the table. They would be set in colored sand sprinkled with flower petals from dozens of brightly colored flowers. It was something to amuse children of all ages during the speeches, but it was by no means the main attraction. She showed Mary how to work the fountains, and how to test them. The sand and petals would be added on-site. Right now Molly just wanted to be sure they all worked.

With Mary occupied, Molly went to one of the boxes containing the stars of her show. This is what she had to work on today. They were glass cylinders that were nearly her height, and about a two feet in diameter, cut with a single line that swirled around them like a barber pole. She got on top of a small step stool and carefully unscrewed the top. She lifted it up and just barely was able to see the fine wire filament that was attached to the lid and would be invisible inside the tube. She took it to her work table, where she suspended it from a hook above the station, and, getting back up onto her stool, she got started.

At noon, Angie Morelli showed up with food for all three of them. Tony had stayed behind because his nephew was taking over her website and wanted pictures of Molly at work. Plus flowers were heavy, and Molly appreciated the extra muscle bringing her the massive buckets of blooms from her fridge as she ran out. Molly barely touched her food; she hardly noticed what was going on around her. This was where she lived, right here. This is what she missed most about New York. Once she had developed a reputation, she had creative freedom nearly all of the time. She was rarely limited by more than the venue's regulations, a budget, and client allergies. She loved this.

She finished the cylinders by about three, and she found herself sipping a smoothie she didn't remember ordering as she began weaving flowers to a net made out of fishing line. Joe showed up with Pino's at eight, and her stomach growled when she caught a whiff of the fettucini he brought her. She realized then that her shoulders ached, and her neck was getting sore.

"I have one more to do, and I'm done everything I can do until tomorrow," Molly said.

"Stop for food," Joe said. "Mom said you ignored lunch and she didn't think the smoothie Mary slipped you, would sustain you."

Molly looked at her watch, and then looked around to tell the others to go home, only to discover that the only one left from that morning, was JigSaw.

Tony left at six to get home to his family, and JigSaw had taken over as muscle, and apparently, Molly hadn't noticed. Mary left at roughly the same time as Tony, no longer able to help with anything until the next day. It was all Molly at this point.

"Mom says you're fun to watch. Very much the perfectionist," Joe said.

"She's not the first to accuse me of that," Molly said.

"Can I help?"

"No," Molly said. "I'm nervous Joe. I feel like a lot is riding on this, and I don't want to fuck it up. What if I've lost my mojo? I mean the last high profile wedding I did, was my own and it wasn't exactly the most positive experience."

"You can't lose your Mojo," Joe said. "To do that, you'd have to lose me, and then you'd just be Mo. I couldn't do that to you, so it's not going to happen."

"It's a really good thing you proposed to me yesterday," Molly said with a laugh. She grabbed the front of his t-shirt and tugged him down for a kiss.

"Why?" Joe asked. "Because it was a terrible joke and you're having second thoughts?"

"Because you said that just now and I thought, if you ever needed a compelling argument to get me to marry you, that would do it for me. The whole doing it for love thing is probably a more socially acceptable reason."

He laughed. "One of the guys pointed it out to me the other day, and I've been looking for a way to slip it into conversation ever since."

"I'm probably going to laugh myself stupid over it after this weekend is over, so if I crack up randomly, you'll know why."

"Do you want me to be there tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Yeah, Could you?" she said, "We won't stay long, and you're going to have to wear something dressy."

"I can swing it," he said.

"I'll hold you to it," she said.

They ate their dinner, and then Joe watched her work for another hour and helped her move the last net into the fridge. The next day, she was out of bed an hour before the alarm, and she was at the barn, for five AM. Molly was too nervous to sleep, and she wanted to get started. At seven Tony and Mary showed up with the arrangements Molly put together from the day before. She told Tony how to install them, and had Mary set up the fountains on the tables. Molly showed her how she wanted the sand put in the dishes around the fountains, the petals Molly would do herself when she was finished with her other projects.

The photographer needed to be in the room by three, so they were a little crunched for time.

When he arrived, she would take a moment to change out of her jeans and t-shirt into something more appropriate for the occasion. Normally, when requested to be on hand for a reception, Molly dressed in something that blended into the guests and the background. That usually meant a pastel or black cocktail dress. Either would stand out in this setting, and that's why she was nervous. Molly went out to one of the dozen luxury portable bathrooms that Camilla had rented for the occasion since the barn didn't have facilities. Molly had put flower arrangements on the counters in each of them and resisted the urge to fuss with the one in the toilet she'd chosen. Molly changed, joined Tony for a bite to eat at his truck, and fixed her makeup. Ready, she went back to the barn to make some last minute adjustments before the guests arrived, at six. The photographer was still taking pictures when she came back in. She ignored him while she perfected some of the table arrangements and he kept taking pictures.

He was there for a very long time, and at quarter to six, Joe showed up. He was wearing a black suit, no tie, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and he looked fucking edible. Under other circumstances, she would have been tempted to jump him. Now she was too nervous. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the room, speechless.

"Tell me that expression is a good one," she said.

"It's…wow."

"Good wow?"

"Oh yeah," he said. The cylinders were suspended from the ceiling, spinning almost imperceptibly, the filaments inside them had been carefully festooned with flowers in a riot of colors, the barber pole illusion made them look like an infinite supply of flowers were going to tumble out of the tubes any minute, raining down on the guests. The petals on the tables below, matched the flowers above, completing the effect.

The silk she'd spent weeks screening, she'd hung and backlit, and then weighted, so they looked like they were full to bursting with millions of flowers. If she had just filled them with flowers, they would have just looked black, and it was a waste of blooms. This way there was an illusion, of colorful abundance. The nets she'd been weaving the flowers to had been stitched to the silk, so they looked like they were spilling out of the swags, and providing the falling flowers for the cylinders. The whole ceiling was filled with them. She had flowers climbing the walls, and around table legs. The effect she had achieved was one of a modern art gallery that had been taken over by a chaotic infestation of brilliantly colored flowers.

Molly's dress was the same mossy green she'd painted the walls of the barn, it was silk and it draped down to the floor, clinging to her body. It wasn't muted though, because it looked like someone had thrown pots of paint, in the brightest version of every color on a color-wheel at her. She blended in, in the chaos, but the dress would stand out anywhere else. She stepped back into the corner of the room when the doors were opened to allow the guests in.

There was a logjam at the entryway as they stopped to stare and take it all in. The guests went to their tables, gawking, craning their necks, trying to see everything all at once. The wait staff showed them how to work the fountains, and there was some delighted laughter around the room. Mostly what she was getting was silence. Then there was an explosion of sound as people started talking over one another. A phone came out, and it started a flurry of picture taking.

This was good, this was very good, and Molly took Joe's hand and gripped it hard. The MC asked for everyone to take their seats because the bride and groom were about to make their entrance. They would do their first dance as soon as they arrived, so he advised the guests to get their cameras ready, and asked that they not impede the photographers. He introduced them, and Camilla entered on the arm of her groom and stopped dead. Her hands flew to her mouth. The music started for their first dance, and for the first little bit, Camilla stood there, staring. Then her husband took her in his arms, and she only had eyes for him. When the music ended, Camilla whispered something to him, and he nodded. She went to the MC and took the Mic.

"This isn't my speech. Phil and I agreed just now that this needs to be done before the bar opens. I…Where the heck is my florist‽"

Joe gave Molly's hand a squeeze, and she walked out onto the dance floor. Molly looked calm and smiled confidently at Camilla, but she felt like she might be sick. There was a surprised murmur around the room, and she was sure she was going to develop an ulcer on the spot. Some people had recognized her, and given the rumors Lucien had spread, she was worried this would turn into a disaster

Camilla hugged her hard. "Holy COW! You said… I never imagined…Thank you," she whispered, then she raised her voice, "Guys, this is… Molly Von G. She did all of this."

There was a startled gasp, almost like a sob, and then the murmur turned to an excited hum, and then there was applause and people were getting to their feet. This had never happened before. Molly got kudos at some weddings, and the applause was usually polite. It was nothing like this. This was so damned strange. Her calm demeanor vanished, and she let out a laugh of relief. She flushed a little, and Camilla forced her to take a bow. There was laughter at that, but the applause didn't die. Despite the excitement of the moment, it didn't feel right, the camera flashes were a little blinding, and she had an uneasy feeling that she couldn't shake.

Something was wrong with this. The applause was genuine, and Camilla was thrilled, but this shouldn't be happening. It was just so _wrong_. That was the only word she could think of to describe it. She glanced at Joe and saw him clapping with the rest of the group. He was smiling, but he was also scanning the room. Did he feel it too? Or was he looking at the flowers?

She snapped herself out of it. She was so used to Lucien fucking with her head, that she couldn't accept good things when they happened anymore, and that needed to stop. She'd worked hard, and while the appreciation was on an unprecedented scale, she needed to remind herself that she was allowed to bask in this adulation. But not for too long, because this was Camilla's day, and Molly'd just provided some of the backdrop for it.

She gave Camilla one final hug, and then made her way towards Joe and the exit. Molly was stopped by a couple of people she recognized from when she worked in New York, who wanted to congratulate her on her latest masterpiece and to rave about the heron fountains on the tables. She got back to Joe and they went out the back way. Molly flung herself at Joe, and he caught her and laughed. "I'm so fucking proud of you. You deserved every bit of that because it looks fucking amazing. Do you want to stay and revel in your glory? Or…"

"No," she said, "I never stay. I get all agitated when people start moving my perfectly placed arrangements out of the way of their conversations, and it spoils it for me. I like staying for the initial reactions, and everything after that makes me crazy."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "What do you think? Should I fill you full of celebratory champagne, and then take advantage of you while you are all drunk and uninhibited?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea, but do you think we can have wings with it? I'm starving. I think the only substantial thing I've had to eat in two days is the pasta you brought me last night."

"See it's things like that, that make me want to marry you."

She grinned. "Your family is going to freak out tomorrow when we tell them."

"I can't believe Tony and Mary didn't notice your ring the instant they saw you yesterday."

"I put it in the cash drawer when they showed up. I like the idea of surprising them tomorrow."

He slung his arm around her shoulders, and they walked back towards the Jeep. Joe opened the door for her and bent to kiss her before she got in. He stopped before their lips touched, and he tensed at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. She felt him reach for the back of his jeans, and the gun that was probably there.

"Molly Adelgieses Von Grimmelschaussen! How dare you leave without saying a word! Fuck, how dare you make me so pissed off at you that I have to say your full fucking name!"

Molly spun around and stared. The woman standing there was five ten, platinum blonde, wearing a bespoke black Versace gown that fit her like skin. Her face was blotchy and angry tears were running down her cheeks.

Molly hesitated and made a split second decision. She still loved Maggie; it's why she never took the watch off. And now Maggie was there, hurting, and despite everything, Molly couldn't allow that. She took off her shoes, handed them to Joe and crossed the lawn, as quickly as her dress would allow her to, and then she hugged her best friend.

"You just left, you didn't tell us where you were going, and I was frantic, worried something had happened to you," Maggie said, ferociously returning Molly's hug. "You had to know that daddy and I were willing to fight tooth and nail for you. You just gave up and…"

"I didn't think you wanted me anymore," Molly said.

"You're fucking crazy," she said. "I hired private investigators to find you. Fucking Ranger…As soon as they find out that he's your cousin, they refuse to look for you. They say it's probably for your protection and to back the fuck off."

Joe coughed, "Maybe this isn't the right venue for this?"

"He's right," Molly said. "There are photographers everywhere, and the last thing you need is to have your picture taken while ugly crying like this."

"Can I give you two a lift?" Joe said.

"I left my bag inside with my fiancé," Maggie said, "I'll be right back. Please don't go anywhere."

"I promise," Molly said. Maggie ran back to the barn and came out a few minutes later with a little handbag. She didn't say another word until they got to Joe's house.

When they got to the front door, Joe intercepted Bob, kissed Molly goodbye and told her he would be back after taking Bob for a walk. Molly showed Maggie inside, and they both kicked their shoes off at the front door.

"He's hot," Maggie said. "What's he do?"

"He's a detective for Crimes against Persons, with the Trenton Police Department. He was just promoted to acting captain, but he's not sure if he wants it to be permanent. He's really smart, and he more than capable of handling the position, but being at a desk makes him crazy, and he's a brilliant investigator who loves his job, so he's on the fence about whether or not to accept the promotion."

"I can't believe you're dating a cop," Maggie said. "He couldn't be more the opposite of Lucien if he tried."

"That's a good thing," Molly said.

"You look terrific," Maggie said.

"Thanks, so do you."

"This thing with Joe serious? Or?"

"He proposed yesterday," Molly said with a smile. As awkward as standing at the front door with Maggie was, Molly was still giddy about Joe's proposal. She kept getting happy butterflies in her stomach when she thought about it.

Maggie took Molly's left hand and looked at the ring, " _That's_ more you."

"I know," Molly said, "He did a good job. Come on."

Molly led her upstairs, and she tossed Maggie a pair of pajamas and then stole a pair of Joe's boxers and one of his sweatshirts. They changed and went downstairs where Molly put on a pot of coffee.

"It's a cute house," Maggie said, "It's not at all what you would normally choose."

"I didn't," Molly said, "It's Joe's; his aunt left it to him, and he's been fixing it up slowly, whenever he needs to burn off steam."

"Temper?"

"A bit, but mostly it's his job. There's a lot of gang activity in his precinct, and until recently he's been dealing with a lot of kids putting holes in kids."

"His promotion is recent?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "He's filled in a couple of times before, so it's not too much of a surprise that they'd tap him on the shoulder when his Captain wanted to retire."

Maggie laughed suddenly, "You live in a row house, you're engaged to a cop, and you have a dog."

Molly grinned, "It's a long way from an upper east side condo, and a French businessman."

"You think?"

"I'm happy," Molly said, "For the first time in a long time, I'm really happy."

"It shows," Maggie said. "Please, please tell me why you had to hide from everyone until now? Was it because of the crap Lucien tried to spread or…"

"Tried? He spread it. After he won, people stopped returning my calls."

"Why the hell didn't you call me? I was there! I know what he did to you financially. I'm fucking made of money, and I told you I'd support you until it all got straightened out. Daddy and I were prepared to fight that Do Not Compete. You just fucking vanished though."

"After Lucien spent an hour convincing the judge that I was the reason the business had to be sold, I came back to your place, and my key card wouldn't work in the lobby. Leroy escorted me from the building saying that I wasn't allowed in anymore. Leroy was pissed about it too. He told me that if it were up to him, he'd make you and your dad at least tell me to my face that I couldn't live there. I called you from the street because I knew it had to be a mistake. Sylvie answered and told me that she was instructed to say that you weren't at home and that I shouldn't bother calling again. I was tired of fighting for something that was clearly over. I didn't want to go through what I went through with Lucien all over again with you, so I called my Dad, and he and Lester took me on a cruise."

"I never, ever, said I didn't want to speak to you again. I was worried sick about you. I came home, and you were gone. So was all of your stuff. Daddy called the police stations, and hospitals because we were so freaking worried."

"I didn't imagine it, Maggie. It was the worst day of my life, and that's fucking saying something. Lucien had just signed the papers, and I found out that he was the buyer of my business. I needed my best friend, and she rejected me. It's not the sort of thing you forget."

"How could you think that? I mean how could you possibly think that I would do that to you?"

"I couldn't believe it, Maggie. But on the same token, I would never have believed that of Lucien either, not in a million years, but the evidence was irrefutable."

"Okay," Maggie said, "I want you to sit here, and I want you to not say a damn word. Just listen."

She punched a number in on her phone, and it rang twice. "I fired you, Margaret. You're not allowed to call me from a wedding unless your chauffeur got drunk and you need a lift."

"Shut up for a second daddy," Maggie said, "Molly did the wedding. I saw her tonight."

"Is she all right? Did you speak to her? Where has she been staying? Was it because of her cousin?" The concern was genuine, and Molly was flooded with guilt. She should have grown a spine. She should have tried harder to get in touch.

"Don't," Maggie whispered.

"I'm in New Jersey, Fred," Molly said.

"Christ kid, it's been years. You can't call us to let us know you're okay?"

"Daddy, she tried to come home to us, and her key was canceled, and Leroy said he was under orders to keep her from entering the building."

"Orders from whom?" he demanded.

"You apparently."

"That's insane!" he said, "No wonder Leroy quit. Jesus Christ! Didn't she think for a minute that maybe should call one of us?"

"She tried, she was told we weren't accepting her calls."

"Who?"

Molly didn't think you could put that much anger into one syllable.

"Sylvie," Maggie said.

"I'll take care of it," he said and disconnected.

"Is he going to have her whacked?" Molly asked.

"You've been living in New Jersey for too long. He's going to fire her," Maggie said. "We looked for you, but Ric…"

"I know," Molly said, "You said that."

"Just tell me everything," Maggie said. So Molly told her about Lucien, the constant dragging back to court, the visits to the store, the dating interference, and then finally meeting Joe, getting swept off of her feet, and the fire.

"This is what I know," Maggie said, "The night after you disappeared, he trashed your condo, and got arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct."

"What did he do?"

"He took a baseball bat to someone's Beemer. Apparently, he thought it was his own. He was into his second bottle of tequila at that point, and somehow his lawyer managed to convince the judge that there were extenuating circumstances."

"Wow," Molly said.

"He's been keeping the business going as much as possible, but without you doing things like you did tonight, it doesn't have the reputation it once had. From what I've been told, your condo looks exactly the same as it did before you split and he didn't return any of your wedding presents. They're all still wrapped in your dining room."

"He's acting like I was the one who ended it," Molly said.

"Oh no, he's not. If anyone dares to comment on one of the rumors he started during your divorce, he gets irate and will go on a tirade about how fucking special you are, to pretty much anyone who will listen. He says he's the one who fucked things up irreparably."

"The last time I saw him, he told me that Joe had left me, just like all of the other men. I asked him why he was doing this to me, and he said that it was because I belonged to him, and I would always belong to him. He said just because he didn't want me, it didn't mean anyone else was allowed to have me."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "Joe and I finally managed to get a restraining order that stuck. Lucien's been keeping his distance, so I have some peace for the first time in a while, but after tonight, I'm terrified I'm going to be told all of the charges against him have been dropped, and all of the money I made on Camilla's wedding will end up in Lucien's pockets in the form of back payments."

"I won't allow it," Maggie said, "And the reason you have peace has nothing to do with your restraining order."

"What do you mean?"

"In early September, he got really drunk, pissed off his balcony, (that's not a euphemism; he peed from thirty floors up) and started throwing dishes down onto the street. He was arrested, didn't get lucky with a judge this time, and was sentenced to community service, which he ignored. He was remanded, and he's been in rehab since."

"Why?" Molly asked.

"Honestly? I have no idea. Has nobody really spoken to you since?"

"Yeah," Molly said, "The Do Not Compete said I couldn't open a store or do business in the State of New York. My first thought was to try and get my old job as an architect back so I had something until I could re-establish myself. I called my old boss, Louis a few times, and I left messages with my new contact information. I called our friends because I wanted to try and get you to talk to me, I called my former clients, and I emailed everyone. I didn't hear a damn thing from anyone."

"You didn't think that was strange?"

"Honestly? After Lucien, and I thought, you, I was in a pretty bad place. I was going through the motions. Ric knocked some sense into me, and I opened the Cubed Root."

"And it's just you now?" she said.

"Yeah," Molly said, "Well Joe's sister Mary is going to work with me full time, and his brother Tony helped me today. He's a contractor, and I needed one for the installation."

"What you did for Cam? I have never seen anything like it, Molly. I knew it was you the minute I walked in. I saw it, and I thought it was the sort of thing only you would dream up. Only you could do that with all of those colors and make it work. It suited Cam to a tee."

"How do you know her?"

"She's the daughter of a friend of my dad's. I wasn't even supposed to be there tonight. Ridley and I were supposed to be flying to Paris, but dad got stuck at work, and he asked me to go to the wedding for him."

"Why did you get fired?" Molly asked. Maggie's father fired her about once a year. It was the only way he could get her to take any time off.

"I may have told the head of a major bank that if he pulled his head out of his ass and sucked his own dick, it wouldn't be much of an improvement but at least he wouldn't be completely useless."

"Uhhh creative?" Molly said.

"I mean, he was being pretty obtuse, and he admits that. He did call 911 like two minutes later when I went Linda Blair on him because I had a perforated ulcer. He hung out at the hospital with me until daddy and Ridley got there. He told my dad that he was pretty sure I just lost my filter because I was in agony and he was provoking me."

"In reality?"

"I stand by my original statement. I've been fired for about four months now because I need to recover."

Molly grinned. Joe came back ten minutes later with a pizza, nachos, a box of wings and a bottle of champagne. Molly made actual introductions, and after dinner, Maggie called her fiancé for a ride. Molly told Joe he'd want to stay up to meet Ridley.

"Why?" Maggie asked.

"Joe's Italian and male," Molly said.

Maggie laughed, "You want to get laid."

"I really do," Molly said. "It's been a good night, and Joe's a lot of fun when he's all testosteronie."

"You make me sound like pasta," Joe said.

"Beefcakeronie?" Maggie suggested.

"Great, Canned pasta. Keep in mind, I brought you ladies wings and champagne. I didn't even comment when Maggie nearly took my hand off for trying to take one of those wings."

"They were good wings, and did you see the dress I was wearing earlier? I could drink, but I couldn't eat in it. Cam's wedding was at noon and went on for a thousand years, and we had to drive from it to the barn, which seems like no big deal but the wedding was an hour away. There was no time to unzip and find a burger."

"Maggie gets a little hangry," Molly said in a stage whisper.

"I noticed," Joe said. Ridley got there twenty minutes later while the girls were still catching up. The reason Molly suggested Joe stay up? Ridley drove a Ferrari 458. Not just on special occasions either, he actually used it as his everyday car. He always drove a Ferrari of some kind. Ridley came in, said hello to Maggie, hugged Molly, and then Maggie ordered him to show Joe the car.

"Take your time checking it out," Ridley said as he stood on the front porch and unlocked the blue Ferarri. "They will need to be pried apart tonight."

"You have your hands full with Maggie," Joe said.

"Oh yeah," Ridley said with a laugh. He was about two inches taller than Joe, and he had an athletic build. He was an F1 driver for Ferrari and renown not only for his ability, but for his icy blue stare, easy smile, and wavy blonde hair. "She keeps things interesting."

Jigsaw ambled over to Ridley, and they did the man hug, handshake thing. "It's been a while," Jigsaw said.

"She's been hiding. Does your presence mean she's in trouble again?" Ridley asked.

"Someone tried to blow her up."

"That's a first. Normally it's just crazed brides who are pissed that she can't fit them into her schedule."

"The pyrotechnics are more my speed," JigSaw said.

"So you're babysitting indefinitely?"

"When the boss doesn't need me doing other shit. Wanna tell me why you're only here just now? She's doing well, and she doesn't need you guys coming around to break her heart again if shit gets tough. You two fucking off on her hurt her worse than numbnuts did."

"She was the one who disappeared on us, man. Maggie has been looking for her the whole time. We were afraid that she was dead."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"She wrote Maggie a letter," Ridley said. "Maggie and her father had this whole plan. They were going to appeal everything, but Molly wasn't up for that fight anymore. She'd obviously given up. So Maggie planned to take Molly away until Fred had everything sorted out. The race season was only a few weeks away. Maggie was going to take Molly to Monte Carlo to get settled in our house and do some shopping. She was already making arrangements to pay Molly's ridiculous alimony for her, and then they were going to fly to Australia for the first of the races. There are a lot of parties around each race, with a lot of people that aren't the same people as the New York crowd."

"And Molly would probably get off on the engineering aspect of it all," Joe said.

"Oh she loves it," Ridley said. "She geeks right out with the pit crew. Anyway, the last court session finally ended, and instead of coming to us in the gallery, as Molly had after every one of those sessions, she left through a different exit with her lawyer. Apparently, there were things she needed to sign. So we waited for her, and after a few minutes a bailiff came out with an envelope. He handed it to Maggie. Maggie opened the letter from Molly, and it basically said that she needed some time to think. She thanked us for everything we'd done for her and said she'd meet us at home later. She didn't show up. We called Lester and Javi and got their voicemail. That's when Maggie's father started calling hospitals. None of us wanted to say it, but we were all pretty sure Molly was at the bottom of the Hudson, and that the letter was a goodbye."

"Molly didn't write that letter," Joe said.

"What do you mean?" Ridley said.

"I mean, Molly told me she came out of the room after signing the papers, and Maggie was gone. She went home and was told that she wasn't welcome in Maggie's life anymore. According to Molly, the housekeeper said she'd stolen something."

"That's fucking nuts," Ridley said.

"What did you do when Molly didn't turn up in the morgue?" Joe asked.

"After about a month, Maggie hired private investigators," Ridley said. "The first stop they made was Rangeman, and they usually quit right after, saying it was a nonstarter. Jesus, do you think Ric hid her from us because she thought we wanted to press charges or something?"

"No," JigSaw said. "Molly told me that she was pretty sure Lucien was using private investigators to follow her. He'd already been in touch to let her know that he was going to be taking her back to court over some bullshit nuisance thing. So Ric said that any PI's looking for Molly were to get shown the door. Now they are to be detained."

"Why?" Ridley asked.

"He's been stalking her," Joe said and filled him in on Lucien.

"The fucking bastard," Ridley said. "It wasn't enough that he had to humiliate her repeatedly in public, he couldn't let her have that one fucking win?"

"What win?"

"The Judge granted Lucien everything he asked for except for Molly's jewelry. Specifically, Lucien wanted the ring back. The judge said that it was Molly's to do with as she wished. Lucien lost his mind over it. The shit he was saying was just fucking cruel. It was almost as hard to watch as the night he ended it. Molly looked like someone had just sucker punched her, but she was too numb to hurt anymore. Her lawyer kept trying to get the judge to have Lucien shut up or fined for contempt, but he just let it go on until Lucien burnt himself out."

"But she still has it?" Joe said.

"No idea. The judge asked her if, after everything, she still wanted it."

"What did she say?"

"She said no, but she had a lot of debts to pay off thanks to Lucien, and he'd probably get it back in alimony payments."

Joe was about to ask another question, but they heard a noise from inside, and Maggie came to the door, with Molly. JigSaw said hello to Maggie and then went back to his post in the Cutlass across the street.

Maggie hugged Molly and promised to see her soon. Molly gave Ridley a hug and accepted a kiss on the cheek, and then Maggie and Ridley got into his car and left. Molly put her arms around Joe's waist and watched them drive away. He held her close with one arm, thinking.

"Molly," he said. "Do you still have the ring Lucien gave you?"

"Uh weird question," Molly said, "Yeah. Why?"

"I want to see it."

"I promise you, your dick is bigger," she said wryly. He chuckled.

"That's not why I need to see it."

"I don't have it here," Molly said. "It's at the bank in a safety deposit box. I can show you a picture of it if you want."

"Yeah," he said. They went to the living room, and Molly sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. She turned on her laptop, and she went onto the Rangeman server and found a picture of the ring sitting on a cushion. It was an antique, and it was strange looking. Several clustered diamonds in a yellow gold setting. It looked like someone had piled a bunch of stones on the band, and in the center, was a three-karat, table cut ruby that looked like it was just dropped on top of the pile.

"Jesus," Joe said. "How much of your hand did that take up?"

"It went right up to the knuckle. I couldn't wear it at work. Lucien ended up getting me something simpler, more manageable."

"Where's that one?"

"I had it melted down and turned into a pendant for my stepmother. It was a two-karat marquis cut solitaire that I picked out at Tiffany's one day because Lucien hated that I kept taking the other one off."

"Why the hell did he pick this one?"

"Well, that's the funny thing about it. We were visiting Lucien's family; they have this place in Provence not far from Avignon."

"You know how Gomez Adams gets all turned one when Morticia says anything French?"

"You can suddenly relate?"

"Yep," he said, "And you just said two place names. Talk dirty to me in French tonight."

"Okay," she said with a grin. "Want to hear the rest of the story first?"

"Yeah, but then I want you naked."

"Deal," she shook his hand and gave him her sweatshirt as a downpayment. "So we were with his mother in a junk shop looking for some old Provençal table linens. She likes the colors, and she wanted to make throw cushions out of them, but she didn't want to spend a fortune on new ones. Anyways Lucien found this bin of costume jewelry, and he found that ring in the bin. He tried to convince the shop owner that it was worth more than twenty Euros, but the owner insisted that it was junk he found at a rummage sale. I think Lucien actually talked him up to a hundred euros."

"You were there for it?"

"Yep," Molly said, "I didn't know what he'd found, I just heard him arguing with the shop keeper. When he gave it to me, he said it must have been fate. We couldn't really afford something extravagant because we had just finished school, and there was this incredible ring just sitting there, waiting for him. He had it appraised for our insurance, and they did a little research on it. It turns out that it belonged to a Duchess whose husband gave it to her, sometime around the French Revolution. Their house was torched, and the ring was thought lost. There's a portrait of her in a book somewhere."

"That was the thing the judge said you could keep, and wouldn't give to Lucien."

"He told Lucien that since he only paid the equivalent of a hundred and fifty dollars for it, demanding that I return it, was petty."

"Why didn't you sell it?"

"Believe me, I've tried but I can't because Lucien bought it in a junk shop and it has no provenance," Molly said. "Nobody wants to buy or sell it without one. I thought about getting Ric to fence it for me, but with the way Lucien was about every penny at my disposal, I didn't want to get accused of trying to hide money or something."

"Who did the appraisal?" Joe asked.

"A friend of ours from school," she said. "Pierre Lucas."

"He's not in Ranger's file about Lucien," Joe said.

"He wouldn't be," Molly said, "We hardly ever saw Pierre after high school. He popped into our lives sporadically, but never for long enough to be more than an afterthought."

"Was there a falling out?" Joe asked.

"No," Molly said. "We quit smoking. I would never have guessed our relationship with Pierre depended on it, but it turned out it was the backbone of it. There were six of us that were close for a while, and then I got pneumonia twice the winter of our freshman year of University, and the boys decided to quit smoking to support me. Pierre couldn't do it, and just stopped coming around."

"I don't suppose you have any pictures of him on your computer somewhere?"

"No," Molly said. "Sorry, all of my school pictures were on film and in the fire… oh, wait!"

She clicked on an email from her school's alumni association, and it brought her to a website that was entirely in French. She entered something into the search bar, and it brought her to a page full of team pictures. Molly scrolled through until she found the year she was looking for and she clicked on an image of a soccer team.

She didn't need to tell Joe which one was Pierre. What had her landlord said? The man from the insurance company was blonde, with curly hair, and looked like he should be in an old painting or sculpture or something. The goalie from her school's soccer team fit the description to a tee.

"There he is," she said. "Jesus, I forgot how pretty he was. It's been a while, and it's strange to see him like this."

"He changed?" Joe asked.

"He dislocated his clavicle in our Junior year, and he quit football. He lost the clean-cut look, and he lost weight. He was still hot, but it had an edge, and the prettiness was gone. The same thing probably happened to you when you filled out and got that scar on your eyebrow."

"I don't think anyone has ever accused me of being pretty before."

"There's a first time for everything," she said, "How did you get the scar anyway?"

"Knife," he said.

"Before or after you joined the Navy?"

"Before," he said. Molly had a little scar on her rib cage, and he ran his thumb over it. "Yours?"

"Word of advice? Never ride a bike in a bikini. If you fall off…"

"Ouch," he said. "I bet you looked hot before you fell off of the bike though."

"I did," she said. "No question. You know what I was thinking?"

"What?"

"I think we should go to Martinique for our honeymoon."

"Why?"

"Because it's French, and you'd get to hear me speak it a lot, and I'll pack a lot of little bathing suits. We could get a villa with a private pool so we can have a clothing optional swimming policy."

"I like how you've very effectively changed the subject."

"I'm happy, it's been an excellent couple of days, and I want to celebrate. I don't want to be talking about Lucien anymore."

"What do you want, Molly?" he asked.

"Frankly I want you to lick champagne off my body," she said.

"Any specific parts?" Joe asked.

"Use your imagination," she said. Joe hoisted her to her feet, and then picked her up so she could lock her legs around his waist. He picked up the champagne bottle and shook it a little.

"It's empty," he said.

"Damn it, Maggie!" Molly said, "I only had one glass of that."

He put the bottle down and picked up the half-empty beer he'd been drinking before Ridley showed up, and raised an eyebrow at Molly.

"Do I look like the kind of girl who has _beer_ licked off of her?"

He responded by pouring some of over her chest. She gasped at the cold, and then moaned as he lifted her higher, and licked from between her breasts, up to her right ear, and then took her ear lobe between his teeth.

"That's a hard yes," he said.

"I'm okay with that," she said.

"I figured you might be," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

_**AN: I apologize once more for disappearing. There were a lot of reasons for my brief hiatus, but they basically boil down to two words, POLAR VORTEX. I have kids, and they have been home A LOT. Hopefully, I'm back now; I don't want to make any promises though because the second I do, all hell is going to break loose again. I know it. So here is a nice long chapter, and thank you for reading.**_

Joe rolled and reached for Molly, and found Bob instead. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock, it was 6:30, and he could hear the sounds of industriousness downstairs. Bob was on his back, so Joe gave him a vigorous belly rub good morning, and then got out of bed.

Joe pulled on a pair of sweatpants, went to the bathroom where he found a list, in Molly's handwriting, with a bunch of things checked off. He read it and groaned to himself. It was too much. He never went to this much trouble for his family on Sundays. Molly should be in bed, with him, sleeping in after the success of the day before.

He went downstairs where he found her in the kitchen, in her PJ's, peeling apples. From the grocery bags on the counter, she'd already been to the grocery store, which meant she'd driven twenty minutes away to the nearest 24-hour market, and there was a ton of food on the counters meaning that it hadn't been a quick shop.

"What's this?" Joe asked.

"I'm making lunch and dinner."

"It's always only lunch, why are you doing dinner?"

"A month ago, your mother realized that this was the only time until maybe Christmas, that the whole family will have a chance to be together and she asked if we could have a big family dinner."

"Where was I for that discussion?"

"You were probably working," Molly said. "Either way, it was going to be at Tony and Angie's, but now we're doing it. It's totally fine. I'm going to stuff an 11lbs boneless pork loin that I had Ella pick up from the butchers for me yesterday."

"That must have been a big pig," Joe said.

"Right?" Molly said. "Anyway, it's going to have to cook for ages, so I'm getting the other stuff I need the oven for, out of the way now."

"Okay," Joe said. "Just don't go crazy. It is potluck."

"Yep," Molly said.

He looked down at her list, and he ripped it in half, taking all of the house and yard work chores on for himself. He helped himself to some toast, and coffee, kissed Molly good morning and then got down to the glamorous task of cleaning up leaves and dog shit from the backyard.

When he came inside, Molly had obviously found some time to shower and change. Her hair was still damp, but he knew that if he were to go over to her, he'd smell the vanilla of the salt spray she put in it when she wanted to skip the hair dryer and enhance her natural waves. She was cutting the pastry into thin strips, and he'd never, ever been more fascinated by anything in his life.

Yes she was eyeballing the cuts, and they looked arrow straight, and exactly the same width, and yes, watching her then weave the strips together to form a crust for the apple tarts that were sitting in the tray in front of her was hypnotic, but neither were what had his attention. What had him captivated was that she'd made the decision to do this while topless. Well not completely.

She was wearing a black bra that he'd never seen before. It was a miracle of construction that even if he were operating with the correct amount of blood flow to the brain designed for thinking, he wouldn't understand how it was working. Her breasts were being pushed up by black lace, but the lace straps that should be helping were hanging decorously off of her shoulders and were designed to be that way. She'd paired this with a pair of grey skinny-jeans and the rose gold loafers she'd been wearing when he picked her up that first morning.

"Not that I mind, but why are we living in a porno?" he asked.

"You're being punished," she said.

"I have apologized a million times, and I tried to cancel this weekend, and you said no."

"I don't care about that. This is fun, and you're doing the stuff I usually hate doing," Molly said.

"Then why?"

"Because every morning since the fire, if you've not been at work, you've woken me up before my alarm so we could bang it out, and you didn't this morning."

"First of all, Sweetheart, don't say, 'bang it out,' it's as bad as you saying 'dude,' it just doesn't sound right. Second, I was hoping we'd sleep in and spend the morning taking our time. I had no idea you were getting up this early."

"That's no excuse," she said, trying not to grin as she pouted.

"We have time now," he said.

"No we don't," Molly said. "I have to make all of the stuff for lunch, and you need to make bacon. I have to set up the buffet downstairs, and finish setting the table in the dining room because I don't want to do that with everyone here, and then I want to get all of the side dishes for dinner ready to go so that I'm not doing prep with 800 people in my kitchen."

"What do you mean, all of the stuff for lunch?" Joe said. "It's potluck. You're making dinner, grandma will bring a casserole, and mostly we'll be eating snacks."

"Normally that would be the case, but I'm being hazed."

"You are not being hazed," Joe said.

"I'm absolutely being hazed," Molly said. "Don't worry about it, it's not my first time, and I'll pay my dues, but I'm not taking it lying down. They don't know who they are messing with."

"Molly," Joe said. "I love you, and I'm fully aware that my family is full of idiots, and assholes, but the women of my family don't haze people. In fact, they are scarily protective of one another. They aren't going to fuck with you for fun."

"Oh?" Molly said. "There are going to be sixteen adults here today, and a multitude of children, right?"

"Yes," Joe said.

"It's a lot of food, and nobody in this family is exactly rolling in the dough, so you do a potluck every weekend."

"Yes," Joe said.

"And it's every Sunday during football season?"

"Yep," he said.

"So please tell me how it's possible that every woman in your family, except for your mother and Bella, has called me, independently of one another, to inform me that they totally forgot about this Sunday and that they just don't have time to make something this weekend? They also tell me that Bella's casserole, which you've informed me is the staple of Sunday lunch, isn't going to be here this weekend. I've been told a lot of reasons why this isn't happening, mostly that she has a cold, or that there was no tongue at the butcher's shop, but they just can't seem to get their stories straight. Your mother can't bring dessert this week either, because she's part of a steering committee that I happen to know is a figment of your sister Mary's imagination.

Your sisters want me to put a wrong foot with Bella, and they want me to crash and burn while hosting this thing. They will pat me on the head and tell me I'll get the hang of it, and then someone will go out and do a grocery, or a pizza run to save the day, and this will be something we can laugh about later."

"Molly," he said. "That's... Nevermind."

He was about to tell her she was crazy but decided that she might kill him if he did, so instead he pulled her into a kiss, and then looked at the next jobs on his part of the list. Every time he walked into the kitchen after that, he'd interrupt her to give her another kiss, and the one time he didn't, she grabbed him by his jeans and dragged him back into the kitchen.

Over the course of the morning, she made enough tarts to feed his family, she made a giant bowl of chicken salad, and another giant bowl of egg salad. She baked some chicken breast and sliced it so it could be used to make club sandwiches; made half a gallon each of guacamole, salsa, and salsa verde; prepped lettuce and tomato for sandwiches; and had Joe make a phenomenal amount of bacon. The bread was homemade and fresh, but Joe had no idea when or how she'd accomplished this. When he asked her, she said, "Ella."

At 11:00 he reminded her that she should probably consider putting a shirt on, and he did the dishes while she went upstairs to locate said top and apply some cosmetics. He was just finishing up when she walked back into the kitchen. She was wearing light makeup and looking fairly fresh-faced. Her top was a pale violet, off the shoulder number, with enormously wide sleeves.

"More torture?" He asked.

"Nah," Molly said. "I just like the way you look at me when I wear something you think is sexy."

"Did you buy something to match that bra you're wearing?" He asked.

"I did, and when everyone goes home, I'll change into it."

"Change into it?" _That_ sounded really promising.

He kissed her again, and might have convinced her to go upstairs for a quickie, had the doorbell not rung. His mother walked in as Molly was tying a string around the stuffed pork loin. Molly'd used clothes pins to keep her sleeves rolled back, and she had an apron on over her outfit. The apron was black with white polka dots, a sweetheart neckline, and a flared skirt. She looked like a cigarette girl from back in the day.

"That's a ridiculous apron," Angie said with a laugh, "Wherever did you find it?"

"My Aunt gave it to me the other day," Molly said. Angie handed her a container of homemade cookies. "I had a brilliant idea this morning for these if you don't mind?"

"What's that dear?" Angie asked.

"I have a soft-serve ice cream maker, and I bought a bunch of candy toppings. I thought we could let the kids make their own ice cream sandwiches for dessert? It should keep them occupied so we can enjoy a nice dinner."

"Oh that's an excellent idea," Angie said. "They will love that."

"I only have two bowls for the machine, and they do have to freeze for a day before you can use them; someone will have to monitor the kids so they all get some, but it should make enough for everyone."

"I love it," Angie said. "And I would love to help them, but I think we should keep it a surprise or they are going to asking us about it every five minutes."

"Oh absolutely," Molly said.

"Now can I do something?" Angie asked.

"I wanted your help with a decision before I set up the buffet downstairs," Molly said.

"Of course dear," Angie said. Joe followed them downstairs and once more stopped and stared at the basement wondering how the hell Molly managed to furnish it without him noticing. Instead of a big sectional sofa, as they'd planned, there were eight black leather club chairs with swiveling lecture tables on the arms. They were arranged in a half circle around an oval coffee table, and there were a few footstools and large throw pillows on the floor. Plenty of seating for anyone who actually wanted to watch the game. Against one wall there were two large folding plastic tables, waiting for food.

Molly went into their new storage room, with his mother, and Joe followed. The storage room was like a glorified walk-in linen closet, with one wall dedicated to shelves. These were used for Christmas decorations and other seasonal stuff. There was a beer fridge, and the hookups for more laundry facilities if they ever decided to move the machines downstairs again. They'd installed cabinets on the opposite side of the room to store winter clothes, and whatever else they wouldn't need in the summer. Molly was with his mother, looking at a selection of linen napkins.

"You are spoiled for choice here, aren't you?" Angie said.

"I wanted one pattern and possibly something festive, but the colonel went a little mad," Molly said with a laugh. "My pattern was still in stock, so I was thrilled, but then the Colonel decided that I needed more variety in my life."

"Ella wasn't kidding when she said they were incredible prints. I don't suppose you have the catalog still?"

"I do," Molly said. "Remind me to give it to you before you leave."

"I think this one," Angie said. "It's so bright and cheerful."

"That's why I chose it the first time," Molly said.

Molly opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a basket, and then proceeded to fill it with a selection of bright napkins, and then lifted out two table clothes that had been hanging inside one of the taller cupboards. The table clothes were plaid with a rich pink, purple, bright blue, and pale green stripe pattern on them. Angie helped herself to the basket and a couple of table pads. Together they put them down on the folding tables and started discussing what food should go where.

"The furniture?" Joe said. "This isn't what we ordered. I thought I talked you down from getting something else?"

"It's just temporary for this weekend. The weather is supposed to be terrible this afternoon," Molly said. "It'll be gone tomorrow."

"Oh," Joe said. "What can I do?"

"Get your Aunt Rose's dishes out of the cupboard and take them upstairs?" Molly said. "We're going to set up another buffet in the dining room for dinner."

She opened the cupboards she'd put the dishes in. they were in their dust bags, and Joe began trekking them upstairs. Molly had two more of the folding tables set up in the dining room, end to end, with enough chairs around them to seat all of the adults, and older kids. Some of the chairs were Joe's, the rest weren't. "Molly?"

"They are going back tomorrow," she called. "Don't worry about it!"

He rolled his eyes and finished lugging the dishes upstairs. Molly and Angie came upstairs again a few minutes later, with different tablecloths, these ones with dark coral trim, and a busy floral pattern in fall colors. More table pads went down, and Molly and Angie laid the tablecloths, folding and overlapping the patterns almost perfectly, so it looked like one large piece of fabric. The napkins they used this time were the same dark orangey-coral color as the trim on the table cloth. Molly had a basket of simple silver napkin rings, and the two women began slipping the napkins into them and putting them at each place.

Molly put a cream table cloth on the buffet table and then had Joe start stacking his Aunt's dishes on one side. They had just finished getting everything to their liking when the doorbell rang again. Most of the family were on the street parking cars and wrangling children. "Joe dear," Angie said, "Molly needs you to set up the Play Station upstairs. Would you mind doing that, so the kids have something to do?"

"Right," Joe said. It had been on his list. "I forgot."

He left his mother to answer the door while he finished the job. When he came back, Mary was in the kitchen, holding the bowl of egg salad with a look of dismay on her face. "What's wrong?" Joe asked.

"There's a lot of food in here."

"Molly cooks when she needs to relax," Joe said. "I think she's still coming down from yesterday, or gearing up for tomorrow."

"Yeah," Mary said. "It's a big day tomorrow."

She carried the egg salad downstairs, and Joe helped himself to a beer just in time for Tony to come in with their grandmother. Molly came up the stairs at precisely the same time, and Bella stared at her.

"Who are you?" Bella demanded.

"Molly," Molly said.

"You think you are some sin filled rock singer that you can go by one name? When you introduce yourself to someone, it is polite to tell them both of your names."

"It's also polite to say hello before you demand an introduction," Molly said. "I just assumed from your greeting that we were dispensing with the niceties."

Bella gaped at Molly like a landed fish for a moment, and all of a sudden, everyone had somewhere else to be.

"Molly," Joe said, "This is my grandma Bella."

"I'd guessed," Molly said with a grin.

"You are the one living in sin with my Joseph," Bella said.

"I sure am," Molly said. "Can I take your casserole from you so Joe can take your jacket."

"No," Bella said.

"Okay then," Molly said. "Well, I was going to pop it into the oven to warm it up before I put it in the chafing dish downstairs."

"I will do it," Bella said. "I will not have some amateur messing with it."

"Fair enough," Molly said, holding up her hands defensively. "I'm the same way with my flower arrangements."

Molly took off the clothes pins holding her sleeves back and put them in the pocket of her apron. Then she took the apron off and hung it on a hook in the kitchen while Bella put her casserole in the oven. Molly grabbed a load of food from the kitchen and carried it downstairs again.

"Be nice," Joe said to Bella. "She's under a lot of pressure right now, and she's…"

"She is not so delicate as her flowers," Bella said. "She's up to something."

"Yeah," Joe said, "Usually. Now hand it over."

"Hand what over?"

"Your gun," Joe said. "I don't want you taking potshots at her because she won't take shit from you."

"You speak like that to your grandmother?"

"Yes," Joe said.

She grumbled and pulled a Desert Eagle from her handbag. Joe ran it upstairs and locked it in the safe. When he came down, Mary and Cat were near the bottom of the stairs. They hadn't heard him, and seemed to be having a private conversation.

"It's a lot of food," Mary said.

Cat didn't have an audible reply. "Is she always so, extra?" she eventually whispered.

"I think she might be," Mary said. "I mean you should have seen this wedding. I figured, bouquets on tables, and maybe an arch or something, but… Here."

There was quiet for a second, where presumably Mary showed their sister a picture from the event. "Wow. You two did that?"

"I filled up fountains; Molly did all of that."

"Crap," Cat said. "Fuck. Crap and damn."

"That's been pretty much my mantra all fucking week," Mary said.

The girls moved off, and Joe went to see if he needed to do anything in the kitchen and heard Bella's shriek of horror come from the basement. He ran down and found Molly standing next to the buffet table, while Bob hid behind her for protection, an empty plate on the floor beside him.

"You gave th-th-that MONSTER MY CASSEROLE!" Bella shouted.

"And my chicken, some of Joe's bacon, and some cheese," Molly said. "Bob doesn't steal if you share. He eats less too because he's not wolfing the food down."

"I made that for my family! Not some filthy mutt!"

"Bob is family, and he's not filthy. He just came back from the groomers, and he's very handsome," Molly said. For a second the basement looked like a mannequin challenge, as nobody dared breathe, and Bella turned puce.

The Italian that came spewing out of Bella was too quick for Joe to catch all of, but the gist of it was that she would not tolerate Molly's rudeness, and did not think her fit to be standing in her grandson's home.

"Language!" Molly scolded. "Honestly, people in glass houses…"

The mannequins moved only enough to draw in slightly deeper breaths, as they waited for Bella to react. Joe's mother looked poised to intervene, but when Bella began chanting, she decided against it. Bella made the sign of the eye at Molly and Molly rolled her eyes.

Molly said something in a low voice that stopped Bella's chant, midstream. Joe's mother made a weird strangled sound in the back of her throat and started turning an odd color.

"Are you Catholic?" Bella asked.

"Yes," Molly said.

"What church do you go to?"

"I go to a church in Newark with my grandmother whenever I can," Molly said. "It's not as often as I'd like, but until recently I just haven't had the time."

"You should make the time."

"I haven't had anyone to help me with the store," Molly said. "It's a big job for one person."

"You should close it on Sundays," she said.

"I do," Molly said, "But like I said, it was just me, and a girl's gotta eat."

Bella nodded, and she looked around the room and then walked over to Molly. She beckoned Molly to bend down slightly and whispered in her ear. Molly grinned, replied, and Bella patted Molly's cheek. "You are a good girl."

She went to the table and dipped a spoon into the dish of mayonnaise and tasted it. "Come, show me."

"Sure," Molly said. The two women went upstairs, and Angie snagged one of the throw pillows from the floor and used it to muffle some hysterical laughter.

"What the hell just happened here?" Mooch asked.

"She was cursing Molly," Angie said, "And Molly called her on something I have suspected for years."

"What‽" Mary demanded.

Angie shook her head, "Oh I don't want to spoil it for her. It's too…" She took a few breaths to compose herself, found a napkin to dry her eyes, and went upstairs, and it was Tony that decided to move first but only when he realized that Bob was about to steal his chicken salad.

"Doesn't steal if you share… my ass," Tony muttered and shoved Bob away.

"It's the chicken salad," Joe said, "That shit should be a controlled substance."

"Who the hell puts apples in their chicken salad? And why does it taste so fucking good?" Tony said.

"The real question is, how the hell is Joe not fat?" Mooch asked.

"I run a lot more than I used to," Joe said. He made himself a sandwich and sat down in one of the empty seats. They were weirdly comfortable, and the lecture tables were the perfect height to hold his beer and sandwich.

"So what are you thinking? Fall or Winter? Florists are busy in Spring and Summer," Tony said.

"For what?" Mary asked.

"The wedding," Tony said.

"What wedding?" Mary asked.

"Joe and Molly's," Tony said.

"I'm sure it'll happen eventually," Cat said, "But just because she tamed Bella, doesn't mean they are picking out dates."

"Maybe not, but the engagement ring on her finger does," Tony said. He took a bite out of his sandwich. "Fuck you're not going to ask me to be in the wedding party are you?"

"Don't worry," Joe said, "You're safe. It'll probably just be Maggie and Eddie."

"Wait, what?" Mary said. "You're engaged?!"

"I asked her on Thursday," Joe said. "Just after my promotion."

There was a clatter as dishes hit the coffee tables and all of the women went running upstairs, where screaming ensued.

"You locked that down quick," Tony said.

"Can you blame me?" Joe asked.

"Nope," Tony said. "I'd marry her just for the chicken salad. But she needs to cut it out with the Miss Perfect shit. My Angie and Cat have been cursing her under their breaths all afternoon, and Mary looks fucking sick. They are going to hate her."

"She thinks she's being hazed," Joe said. "She has shit luck, but things have been going really well lately, and I think it's making her paranoid."

"Oh no, she's being hazed," Mooch said.

"What? Why?"

"It's your mom's fault," Mooch said. "When your sisters were messing around with the schedule they were trying to arrange things so that Molly's first weekend hosting fell on a weekend that your mom was available. See, the first time Angie and Tony hosted anything for the family, Tony's Angie was so worked up she was sick, and then your mom micromanaged everything all day, and Tony's Angie said it was fucking awful. So then Mary and Cat said the same thing happened to them. When they got the schedule figured out, Cat called your mom and asked her if it was okay with her, because they knew she'd want to help Molly, since it's her first time and everything. Your mom said, 'Oh whatever weekend is fine; Molly doesn't need my help hosting a little family dinner.' And then went on for about twenty minutes about how capable Molly is. After they got off of the phone, the girls decided they were out for blood."

"How do you know all of this?" Joe asked.

"Cat told me," Mooch said. "They specifically chose this weekend to do it, because they knew that she'd be too busy to pull everything off. And Mary said that Molly's a perfectionist, and always so put together that a house that's not finished, a messed up yard, and having to rush everything, was going to fuck with her plenty."

"Christ," Tony said.

Joe looked down at the now empty plate that Mooch was holding, and realized that it wasn't something Joe owned, and it wasn't from Aunt Rose's dishes. He took it from Mooch and flipped it over. There was an inventory barcode lasered onto the bottom. Joe got out of his chair and flipped the chair over. On the bottom, written in marker, and inventory number, and a barcode sticker was attached to the tag.

"Son of a bitch," he said. "Where did these dishes come from?"

"Molly had me haul them out of the cupboards in the storeroom," Tony said.

Joe stalked off to the storeroom and opened the cupboards. There were milk crates full of everyday, serviceable white dishes, and a receipt listing what exactly Molly had taken. There was cutlery, dinnerwear, and glassware, plus all of the basement furniture. Even the folding tables.

He slammed the cupboard doors and went back out. Mary was on the stairs, with Cat, and Joe rounded on them. "She's been so fucking screwed financially that without her store, she couldn't pay her cell phone bill, and she has the cheapest fucking plan imaginable. She just lost everything, the insurance company seriously underpaid her, and she's been putting almost every last penny into the new store, praying it's going to be a damned success, and you thought it would just be funny to try to fucking sabotage her? She's rented all of this shit, and spent who the fuck knows how much money on food for everyone, which you've never had to do, and you're doing it because mom fucking likes her? Christ! And you!" He rounded on Mary, "You've seen her books, you know what it took for her to be able to pay you, and you saw what she did yesterday, and you're in on this fucking bullshit? I can't believe you. Nobody leaves here until every last one of these dishes has been washed, and you will all be paying her back for every last fucking penny she spent."

He stormed upstairs, to where Molly was in the kitchen.

She was kneeling on the floor, with a toy car and a completely disassembled egg timer, showing one of his nephews how to replace the broken flat spring inside his wind up toy. They got it back together, and Molly dragged the car across the floor, released it, and it went shooting down the hall. His nephew hugged Molly, grabbed the car, and went back to the living room. Molly scooped up the remains of the egg timer, and put them on the kitchen table, and started picking through them, putting parts in a small plastic bag she pulled from her toolbox.

"When I said that you probably knew how to fix your own car, that's not exactly what I had in mind," Joe said.

Molly grinned and dropped the bag back into her toolbox. Naturally, the toolkit was purple. So were the tools in it. They'd been a housewarming gift from Lester and Javi. "Well later, if you'd like, I can go outside and give the Jeep a tune-up," Molly said.

"I'll pass for now," Joe said.

"Yeah, it's raining," Molly said. "It might look sexier, but I doubt it would do the Jeep any favors."

"Can I talk to you for a minute? Somewhere, where it's less nuts?"

"Sure," she said. She looked at Joe properly for the first time, and her brow crinkled in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Come out front," Joe said.

Molly followed him, and they grabbed a couple of jackets from the front hall closet. They went outside and stood under the protection of the front porch roof. "What's up?" She asked.

"When exactly did you realize you were being hazed?"

"When Mary told me that we were hosting this weekend," I said. "I've had weeks to get ready."

"Molly, you are supposed to be spending your money on your store or yourself for Christ sake; not on my fucking family, and that includes me. You should have told me, and I'd have just ordered a bunch of pizza, and told everyone that it was my fuck up…"

"Yes, and then the next time we hosted, they would have thrown me under the bus then," Molly said. "Why put off the inevitable?"

"Yes, well this actually has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with Stephanie."

"Say what now?" Molly asked.

"Stephanie was good at a lot of things, but when it came to anything domestic, she was basically feral."

"Easy," Molly said. "The woman's not here to defend herself."

"She'd probably agree with me," Joe said, "She once had a panic attack because she used a vacuum. I didn't care about that shit, that's not why I loved her. I had a huge fight with my mother about it because she wanted to squish Stephanie into this fucking June Cleaver mold that she would never fit in, and she was putting all of this pressure on me to think that's what I wanted, and it wasn't. I told mom that I was usually just happy to see Stephanie at the end of the day, alive, relatively unharmed, and if she still had both of her eyebrows, it was a bonus. I made her back off. Now I'm with you, and you're you, and you're not afraid of a vacuum or cooking a seven-course meal, and that's fucking great, but it's not why I love you, and the girls think that mom's going easy on you because I dunno, but she's not. She backed off because of Stephanie..." He stopped because Molly was smiling. "What?"

She reached up and used her thumb to rub the vein in his forehead that tended to throb whenever he had a good mad going on. "Joe, I went to five boarding schools in four years; I know how to handle a hazing."

"You've been up since five in the morning at least."

"Joe, I was up half an hour before you were," Molly said.

"You went to the market."

"In my PJ's? Really?" Molly said, "I got everything through Ella and the wholesaler she uses to supply Rangeman. She had someone drop the food off this morning."

"And the rental furniture?"

"All Rangeman," Molly said. "And the dishes too. They were free."

"Dishes I've already told them are going to be clean before anyone leaves."

"Perfect," Molly said, "Because now I can tell them no, it's all right, I'll handle them later."

"Molly, you're going to be up until fucking midnight."

"No," Molly said "I'm not, because I have a plan. Listen to me very carefully. Pizza, paper plates, paper napkins, cold cuts, containers of dip, jars of salsa, all fine for a football party. Add in Grandma Bella's casserole, and your mother's cookies, and that's what people are looking for right?"

"Yeah," he said, "This is too fucking much."

"Oh, I know. All that's available here are linen napkins, expensive ones, from France, and they coordinate with the tablecloths. I made everything that's being served today except for the vegetable toppings for the sandwiches, chips, the ketchup and mustard, and Bella's casserole. Tonight for dessert we're having tarts and homemade ice cream, served on matching china, around the dining room table, with wine that costs more than $12 a bottle thanks to leftovers from Ric's wedding. Then we're going to see everyone out the door, and Ella's going to come in with whoever is assigned to assist her this week. They are going to take away all of the dishes, and stuff we borrowed, and probably my linens because Ella loves me and will do my laundry for me, and it'll all be done.

I'm a giant ball of stress because of that wedding yesterday and opening the store tomorrow, and instead of stewing over it, I get to spend the day doing my second favorite thing to unwind, and the night doing my first favorite thing. It should be enough to make me sleep like a College Freshman after his first frat party."

"And all of this is to show my sisters that you don't crack under pressure and impress my mother?"

"No my sweet innocent Joseph," Molly said. "Your mother and I are in cahoots. Do you really think I would be stupid enough to feed Bob your grandmother's casserole while she was standing right there if we hadn't already planned it? Your grandmother is entirely predictable. Pissing her off gave me the opportunity to show her that I speak fluent Italian, and let her know that I take my grandmother to church whenever I can. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but none of your sisters or sisters-in-law go to church, or speak Italian, right?

She knows I did all of the cooking, and she's been saying loudly, over and over again how she doesn't like eating off a paper plate, and that she hates plastic utensils because it makes her feel like her food isn't respected. Why would you want to eat her cooking, with garbage?"

"Jesus Christ you raised the bar," Joe said, with a dawning realization of what Molly was up to. His sisters were so fucked after today. Sure Molly paid for the food, but everything else had been free. They weren't going to have that option, and if they went back to disposable stuff, Bella was never going to let them hear the end of it.

"Yes I did," Molly said. "I raised it a lot, and I have access to a free cleanup crew when it's all over, another thing your sisters do not have. I don't mind that they wanted to haze me. I get it. I'm new, and I have purple hair, and yet your mom and I get along great. I'm an interloper, and I need to earn my place. What pisses me off is that they decided to fuck with me this weekend. For that, I am filling their kids up with ice cream, cookies, and candy, just before bedtime, on a school night."

"You're scaring me a little bit," Joe said, "It's turning me on."

"Is it my evil genius, or is it my top?"

"Probably your top," Joe said. "What did you say to Bella to shut her up? You nearly killed my mother she was laughing so hard."

"Oh I just told her that I speak a lot of languages, Latin being one of them, so I knew that her curse was basically gibberish."

"What did she whisper to you?"

"She congratulated me on my ring and told me that we were going to have a dozen sons and only good girls for daughters."

"We can't have that many kids. It's only a three bedroom house."

"That's actually exactly what I said," Molly replied. She put her hands on his chest and smoothed his t-shirt more as an excuse to touch him than to actually adjust his clothing. "Thanks for coming to my rescue."

"It turns out you didn't need it," Joe said.

"Still, I appreciate it," she said, "My knight in comfy denim."

He grinned and kissed her.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Thanks again for reading! I'm going to post two chapters today, so please stay tuned for the next installment!**

The next morning, Molly was up at five, she ran, she showered, she dressed in a grey dress, with her lucky shoes, and she pulled on a blazer. She was putting on the coffee when Joe came into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of jeans he hadn't buttoned yet, and nothing else. He was looking a little rough and was staring at the coffee pot.

"It's early; go back to bed," Molly said.

"I can't. I have to go be a cop," Joe said.

She poured him his first cup of the day and handed it to him. "I love you," he said.

"Was that directed at me, or the coffee?" Molly asked.

"I honestly don't know," he said. "Don't make me choose."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said.

"Molly, I don't want to say this on your first day back at work, but be careful."

"Lucien is in court-ordered rehab," Molly said. "I'm safe."

"We don't know that he's still there," Joe said. "People you knew were at that wedding, and he may have heard about it by now. History tells us he's going to be spoiling for a fight because of that success, and he's been escalating in his behavior. Don't do anything to provoke him."

"Joe," Molly said, "You and I are living together, and we just got engaged; he's going to be plenty provoked."

"I know, but my gut is telling me that he's going to make a move soon," Joe said. "Keep JigSaw close."

She nodded and put back the leftover tart she was going to eat for breakfast. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. She smiled at Joe, trying to restore her good mood.

"Okay, I love you. Drink that coffee and become human and I'll talk to you around lunchtime?"

"I'll see what I can do," he said. He put his coffee down, and put his hand on Molly's waist, drawing her close. "I love you."

"I like that you put your coffee down to say it," she said.

"I wanted there to be no ambiguity this time," he said. "Good luck today. You're going to be great."

He kissed her goodbye, properly, and she left him in the kitchen with his coffee. She was in the driveway, at her car, when she heard the door, and Joe came jogging down the steps, now wearing a t-shirt.

"Did I forget something?" She asked.

"Yep," he said. He took Molly's portfolio bag from her, and tossed it into the car, and kissed her thoroughly. She somehow managed to find her way to sitting on the hood with him standing between her legs, while she clung to the newly donned t-shirt. "Did that kiss take? Because the last one sure as hell didn't look like it did."

She grinned, "I think so, but I wouldn't object to one more, just to be sure."

He was more gentle the second time, a brief soft kiss, and a caress of her cheek. "Kick ass today, Sweetheart."

"Okay," she said. She gave him a quick peck on the lips before he let her off of the hood of the little VW Up! and he held her door for her while she got into the driver's seat.

"Why did you get this car?" Joe asked.

"There's an exclamation mark in its name," Molly said as she started it. "Why'd you pick a Jeep?"

"Because I couldn't see Bob doing well in a sidecar," he said.

"You had a bike?"

"Yep."

"Damn," she said. "You can have a lot of fun on a bike."

"I know," he said with a grin. "Go to work."

"I'm distracted by your jeans," she said.

"Punishment for not waking me up this morning," he said.

"I deserved that. Payback is such a bitch sometimes," she said with a sigh. "I'll see you later."

He closed the door and watched her leave before he went back into the house. Good mood restored, she was smiling to herself when she pulled into the parking lot and brought the Up! to an abrupt halt. She picked up her cell phone and dialed JigSaw, who was tailing her.

"Uhhh…." She said.

"Stay in your car," he said. "Keep your doors locked, and keep it running and in gear until I say otherwise."

She nodded dumbly, forgetting that he couldn't actually hear her and hung up her phone. JigSaw parked between Molly and the store and approached the crowd out front. They took one look at him and parted like the red sea.

He went inside the store for a minute, and then came out again. He spoke to the crowd, who then formed an orderly line around the store. He got on his phone, and a two minutes later, four Rangeman SUV's pulled into the parking lot and started putting up barriers to contain the line. He issued some more directions, and then came over to Molly's car to escort her inside.

"Who are all of these people?" Molly hissed.

"Ric's looking into it," JigSaw said.

Molly got to the door, and a girl in the front of the line thrust a magazine at her. It featured an old spread of something Molly'd done when she still worked in New York. "Will you sign this?" The girl asked.

"You know I'm a florist right?" Molly said, taking the marker from the girl.

"You're THE Molly Von G!"

"Last time I checked," Molly said, and she signed the proffered article. Three more magazines came at her, and they looked very new. Molly took one of them, marked the page and flipped to the cover. It was the October Issue of a New York wedding magazine with a top ten list of the best white floral designs, one of hers was number one. "Cool," Molly said. She signed the page.

"I'm not comfortable with you on the street in this crowd," JigSaw said. "You can sign their shit inside. I'm letting ten people in the store at a time. And maybe send Mary out to see who is here looking for an appointment, who wants to buy flowers, and who just wants an autograph. I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe we should schedule a signing session for lunchtime or something."

She turned and looked as a few more cars pulled into the lot, one of them a minivan that contained an improbable number of excited young women. They were pointing at Molly and squealing as they came running from the van. They spotted JigSaw and skidded to a stop, and then practically skipped to the back of the line.

"Ummm," Molly said, "What the fuck is going on? I feel like one of the Beatles."

"Talk to Mary. Something about Twitter," JigSaw said.

"Okay," Molly said.

When she got inside, Mary grabbed her hand and dragged her away from the door. Mary closed and locked it, and then dragged down the front blind.

"They have been here since at least five. I came in to do the early morning setup, and there were fifty people out there."

"Jesus," Molly said.

"While you were playing domestic goddess yesterday…thanks for that by the way. Do you know how fucked we all are after that?"

"Uhhh what did you expect me to do?"

"Crash and burn like everyone else has," Mary said. "You should see the mountain of food that was waiting in coolers in the driveway for when you burnt something and had your nervous breakdown. What are we supposed to do with it all?"

"Serves you all right for pulling that BS the day after Cam's wedding! I asked you if I was being hazed and you totally lied to me!" Molly said.

"I gave you a heads up, which is more than anyone else has ever gotten," Mary said.

"Oh Gee, thanks. What's with the mob out there?"

"Yesterday the internet went crazy. You are all over Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, with the hashtags #weddinggoals and #therealMollyVonGhasjuststoodup."

"Gotta love the Slim Shady reference."

"Ranger called when I got here; he's got monitors dedicated to the store today, and he's sending some people over to do crowd control."

"Oh Boy," Molly said.

"That's not the only thing. Some woman pulled up and got out of a sports car worth a gazillion dollars, and I thought your groupies were going to start fainting. I think I've seen her on TV before. Ranger told me to let her in before the crowd lost its shit completely. She's had me unloading boxes for the last twenty minutes. Is she taking over?"

"Maggie?" Molly called.

"Back here," Maggie said. Molly walked towards her office and looked inside. Maggie was at a computer, and she had a mountain of paperwork beside her already, and from the looks of it, she was upgrading all of the business software on Molly's computer.

"What's going on?" Molly asked.

"I'm taking over your office. You're working out of the consultation room upstairs from now on. I'm having someone get that desk you liked from my house in the Hamptons, and we'll set it up properly in there. It'll get dropped off tonight, but we're just going to have to make do today."

Maggie had boxes around her, and Molly recognized some of it as stuff from the early days of Von G, when they were just getting things started, and some of the boxes contained things from Maggie's office in New York. Molly walked to the office supplies box and started unpacking it, while Maggie did whatever she was doing on the computer.

"What the hell is happening outside?" Molly asked.

"My phone fucking exploded yesterday. It's a good thing you don't really do the social media thing, which I'm changing by the way (well the Cubed Root will have a presence anyway) or your phone might have crashed. People loved Cam's wedding. I'm exploiting it. I'm saying that you were discouraged after Lucien's betrayal, and you wanted to go back to the early days of Von G, where you were happy just making people happy. You wanted to make your work accessible to the masses again, so you went completely anonymous, and more or less became the Banksy of floral design. "

"Well, that's a giant fucking lie. I'd have loved to have used my name. I just wasn't allowed."

"I know, but I spoke to the Federal Prosecutor yesterday, and until the investigation is complete, they want the details of your separation out of the media. We'll leak it to your advantage once everything is settled. In the meantime, you're going to do a mock wedding for Martha Stewart's Weddings; she wants you on her new show, but I told her you don't do television appearances."

"I don't?"

"Not until Ric has finished another security assessment, and Lucien is in Prison." she said, "You're not set up for this kind of attention, and we're going to have to figure out something permanent for crowd control."

"Well yeah, because those people out there are obviously nuts. I'm just a florist."

"Yeah except you're not just a florist," Maggie said.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked.

"Aside from the fact that you've never been 'just a florist,' it turns out, and I'm only just learning this now, you are part of the syllabus of some University level art courses. You're in an intro to theory and an intro to Art History Class. And there's an entire unit dedicated to your work in a course about color theory and composition."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ridley is bringing the textbooks. He should be here soon actually."

"This doesn't strike you as fucking bizarre? I'm a florist," she said. "I don't care how good I am, or how popular my stuff is, this is insane."

"I don't know what to tell you," Maggie said, "You're good Molly. Really good."

"I. Am. A. Florist," Molly said.

"A famous one," she said. "Which is why you need me. I'm taking over as your business manager. You don't have the time to be in charge of the bookkeeping, and advertising and all of that shit. I run your life now."

"I can't afford you," Molly grumbled.

"No," Maggie said, "You can't. But you're letting me do this gratis."

"You're not that altruistic."

She spun the computer to face Molly, and it showed Molly's accounts for the last couple of years. Molly'd made a small profit, and this year she was doing much better, but things were slow. "This is fucking bullshit, and this is because your asshole ex, paid my housekeeper fifteen grand to intercept your calls, and as it turns out, to delete you from the call history on my phone."

"What a bitch," Molly said, flopping into a chair.

"She's an unemployed bitch," Maggie said.

"I meant Lucien," Molly said.

"I'm going to make an appointment with my colorist to put you back to your signature color."

"Nope. I prefer this one, thanks," Molly said. "And these people are weird."

"Yeah, but they are going to make you oodles of money."

"That will be handy. We were talking about remodeling the kitchen." Molly got out of the chair she was occupying and walked to the door. "By the way, I had a little Italian lady put a curse on me yesterday."

"Curses wouldn't work on you," Maggie said, "You're too much like the colonel." What that meant, Molly wasn't quite sure but it was probably accurate.

"She took it off of me when I told her I was making an honest man out of Joe."

"What was the curse supposed to do?'

"It was hard to make out in the gibberish, but I think it was going to make my nails and hair fall out."

"You wouldn't need to wax anymore, but wigs are a pain in the ass," Maggie said.

"Yep," Molly said. She walked out of the office, leaving Maggie to her bookkeeping.

"Mary, we're just going to have to open early today," Molly said. "Go out there with my iPad and work the line. I'll start taking appointments for event consultation between ten and noon, and two and five. Keep appointments to ten minutes max, and talk to Maggie about my schedule. I'm going to need a smoothie around noon, and we're going to have to label the arrangements."

"What do you mean?" Mary said.

"Stuff I designed and put together needs to be marked. Everything else (aka your stuff) will be a Cubed Root design."

"That's smart!" Maggie called out. "I can't remember; do you still have rights to your name?"

"I do," Molly said. "I'm just not allowed to use it on my website, or in any advertising that gets distributed in New York."

"Perfect," Maggie said. "I was hoping you'd say that. I found something the other day." She came out of the office toting a clear plastic Tupperware bin.

When Molly was trying to figure out branding in New York, Maggie had a bunch of ribbons printed with potential logo designs on them. They'd gone with a soft pastel green with grey block writing. But there had been dozens of others, and Maggie had saved them. Molly picked up one of the rejects she had loved, but Lucien had objected to. It was a charcoal grey with what looked like old typewriter font, all lower case, saying Molly Von G. in white, with just a hint of purple.

"I knew you would pick that one," Maggie said.

"I like grey," Molly said. "And that purple is quiet."

"Molly, it's white," Maggie said.

"Call the manufacturer and give them the color code, ask them for the name, and if I am right, you can buy me a truck in that color."

"A Truck?" Maggie said.

"I'm going to need one, and I can't keep using Tony's."

"You'll look ridiculous driving a big truck," Maggie said.

"I'm still going to need one for work."

"Fine, it's moot anyway. You're going to lose."

"Which of us is the one who is the subject of a color theory course?" Molly asked.

"Neither of us has taken the course. You never know, it could be a class about how delusional you are."

"Are you saying you don't like the ribbon?"

"No, the ribbon is gorgeous, and it suits you. I'm saying you're a nut."

"Pot, may I introduce you to Kettle? Now help me label these arrangements so Mary and I can open the store."

"You're not the boss of me, but I love you, so I'm going to do what you're asking, just this once. And just so you know, we are trademarking your name, in this design, and you will be forever stuck with this. The Cubed Root is going to get its own Trademark. When I'm done with you, your name is going to be as synonymous with weddings as Kleinfeld's and Vera Wang."

"Whatever," Molly said. "How did you find out about the classes?"

"Twitter," Maggie said. "I posted a picture yesterday from the wedding, and one of my followers said that she's loved your work since she saw you in a textbook. Apparently, you've been the subject of these courses for years."

"Seriously?" Molly said, "How do I not know about this?"

"How did none of us know about this?" Maggie said. "Not you, me, Ric, nobody. You'd think that a google search would show you on a syllabus or something. But nope. And the textbooks aren't available in digital format either. It's crazy."

It didn't take them long to tie the ribbons around the arrangements, and Molly took a few minutes to fluff the store up a bit before they opened the doors. JigSaw stood beside her as the first group of clients came tumbling in. Just before ten, Molly was finishing up a custom arrangement for one of her groupies, when Maggie emerged from the office, looking vexed.

"We need to get that Do Not Compete tossed. Right now," Maggie said.

"Excuse me for a minute," Molly said to her client. Said client looked like she was about to pass out from excitement. Maggie nodded to the girl.

"Hey," Maggie said.

The girl squeaked, turned pink and then went completely pale. Mary hurried over with a folding chair and a glass of water. Mary put the girl in the chair and started fanning her. It wasn't the first time it had happened that morning. Molly called it the Maggie Effect.

Molly ushered Maggie back into the office, and Maggie closed the door. "You can't toss the Do Not Compete."

"Why?" Maggie said, "The judge who granted it is being charged with corruption. It'll be easy."

"No," Molly said. "It won't be. What's going on outside is fucking crazy. I'm keeping it together because I want the money and the success, but I'm freaking out on the inside. This isn't good. It's really not. Lucien was getting really bad before I met Joe. I was scared then, and then I started seeing Joe, and since then, Lucien's been losing. He's already tried to kill Joe's dog and had someone push me down a flight of stairs, and that was because Joe and I started sleeping together. He blew up my store, and my home, because Joe gave me a dresser. What's he going to do when he finds out that Joe and I are engaged, and my business is…booming? I'm afraid that taking away the Do Not Compete is going to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. I have to let him keep this one win. If we take it away…"

"Fine," Maggie said, "It's only good for a few more months anyway. I'll just have New York Clients work around your schedule if they can, and take the loss if they can't."

"Thank you," Molly said.

"Who's your lawyer right now?"

"Mike Soules," Molly said, "He's a friend of Joe's."

"I'm going to get him to bring papers over that you're going to sign. They will give him permission to waive confidentiality when it comes to talking to me, so I know exactly what parameters I'm allowed to work within."

"Thanks," Molly said.

"It's going to be okay," Maggie said. "You go out there, and be brilliant, and I'll get your back."

"Ok," Molly said. She took a few deep breaths and put a smile back on her face.

"Relax a little, you look demented," Maggie said.

Molly stuck out her tongue at her friend, and then went back out onto the floor.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: This is the second chapter I have posted today. So if you haven't read the first one yet, go back! Thanks for reading!**

Eddie was sitting in Joe's office when Morelli got to the station. Around him on the floor were old case files of Joe's. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open. He didn't even acknowledge Joe when he walked in. Joe turned on the coffee maker in his office, and Eddie snapped out of his trance.

"Shit. What time is it?" Eddie asked

"7:00," Joe said, "Go home man."

"I can't," Eddie said. "This is pissing me off."

"What is pissing you off?"

"The decoys," Eddie said. "If Brasseau used them as cover to get Molly out of here, then why hasn't he made a move yet? If he's desperate enough to kill two people to fake Molly's death, then I really don't see him respecting a restraining order, do you?"

"It doesn't seem likely," Joe said. "Which is why Molly doesn't go anywhere without a bodyguard, there are units on the street outside of our house at night, and Ranger has people patrolling the neighborhood. But as it happens, there's a reason why we haven't heard from Brasseau. He's in court-ordered rehab. He's being forced to accept the restraining order."

"How the fuck is that possible? Seriously? The Feds would know by now. He'd be under arrest."

"I don't know," Joe said. "I got this information from someone who lives in his building."

"That scares me," Eddie said. "We still don't know how he was able to track her, just that he was. I've been through everything Ranger gave us, and it freaks me out that everything points to him having access to her phone but that even Ranger's guys have no idea how. And now this? Who the hell is this guy."

"She's using a secure phone now," Joe said. "Explain to me why my office is a mess?"

"The files represent everyone you've arrested who was either out of prison, or on bail, when the store blew up. I thought maybe it was done to distract you. Even after you knew Molly was alive, you were really fucking out of it. We were all pretty single-minded right after."

"Why did you decide you were going to look into this?"

"There's no way to tie Lucien to the bomb, and Lutz categorically denies ever seeing him before. They can't tie him to the assaults of her dates, and while he was at the stadium, and we know he approached her, it's her word against his about what he said. Any halfway decent lawyer is going to point out that we don't know what he said to the guys who tried to push her down the stairs. He could have been telling them to fuck off, for all we know. Basically, he's done a good job of being a dickhead, without leaving us anything to bust him on. The Feebs think that the best approach to getting him off of the streets is to attack it from the White Collar angle. They've got more than enough to put him away for a while, but I'm worried about him getting out early on good behavior. That'll be less likely if he's put away for something violent."

"I might have something. Did anyone ever give Lutz's description of his French friend to Molly?" Joe asked.

"I dunno," Eddie said. "I didn't, but then I didn't question Molly beyond the day of the fire. That was your pal Kody."

"Do you have a transcript of that interview?" Joe asked. Eddie rifled through the files around the desk and pulled it out.

"He asks her if she and Lucien ever associated with someone named Claude, and she said that a friend's girlfriend for about a minute was called Claude, but other than that, not really. He gave the description of Claude as tall, blonde, caucasian. She said that Lucien occasionally likes to be blonde and that her friend Max has light brown hair that sometimes looks blonde. Kody showed a picture of Max to Lutz and Lutz said no."

"That's the second time Max has come up," Joe said.

"Yes, it is," Eddie said, "But it wasn't him."

"Kody should have quoted Lutz's description to Molly," Joe said. He'd printed a copy of the picture Molly had shown him online and dropped it on the table in front of Eddie. "His name is Pierre Lucas, and she didn't think of him until now because he dropped off of her radar in University."

"Holy shit, that's him. That has to be him. Why did he come up now?"

"She ran into Maggie on the weekend," Joe said.

"Midas Maggie? What the hell was that like?"

"Well she can drink a magnum of champagne without acting drunk, and it turns out someone paid off her housekeeper to intercept Molly's calls. And someone forged Molly's handwriting to produce something that could have passed for a suicide note. I think Molly got on that cruise at exactly the right time. I think if she'd stayed in New York a day longer, if we ever heard of Molly at all, it would be in the context of Lester's dead little sister."

"How does Maggie connect to Lucas?" Eddie asked.

"Maggie's fiancé figured that the way Lucien was acting, was over Molly's engagement ring. Brasseau bought it in a junk shop, and it turned out to be worth a fortune. Lucas appraised the ring for their insurance. Molly was allowed to keep it, and apparently, Brasseau fought her over it, but it was the only thing the judge let Molly win. And he didn't go for the appraised value, he went for the ticket value when Brasseau purchased it."

"No he didn't," Eddie said. "I have been through those court transcripts and documents so many times I can recite them in their entirety, and there's nothing about a ring."

"There's nothing in any of the documents about it?"

"No, nothing," Eddie said.

Joe picked up his desk phone and made a call to someone he knew at Interpol and had them run Pierre Lucas through their databases. Eddie studied the picture for a few minutes, and then picked up the insurance form, and the brief history of the ring that Joe gave him.

"This is about an engagement ring?" Eddie said. "Seriously?"

"A fucking ugly one too. The one I gave Molly is better. I mean it's not a few centuries old, or worth the same as my house, but it's pretty, and it suits her."

"I'm sorry, what?" Eddie said.

"The engagement ring I gave Molly suits her more. For one it doesn't look like a Super Bowl ring on her, and for another, it has flowers on it. Molly likes flowers."

Eddie was about to say something when Joe's desk phone rang. "That was fast," Joe said when his Interpol contact's name showed up on the caller ID.

"We're talking about this more, later," Eddie said.

"Yeah, yeah," Joe said. He picked up the phone and listened for a few minutes while his friend spoke and then hung up.

"What?" Eddie said.

"Pierre Lucas is an alias," Joe said.

"For who?"

"No idea," Joe said, "All I know is that it's not his real name."

"Why?"

"My contact looked up Pierre Lucas in his system in connection with Molly's school, and discovered that on paper the exact same Pierre Lucas that was living at the boarding school with Molly and her friends, was also enrolled in, and attending classes, at Eaton."

"What?"

"And after high school, he went to Harvard, not LMU," Joe said. "LMU says there's no record of him anywhere in their systems. Interpol is going to run the picture through aging software before they put it into facial recognition."

"What does Molly say about him?" Eddie asked.

"She said that after high school he popped into their lives sporadically, but he was an afterthought," Joe said. "Which is the type of guy who could easily become a stalker. Especially if he's used to getting what he wants."

"Did she say anything else about him?"

"His family is loaded and owns an art gallery in Paris," Joe said. "She couldn't remember the name of the gallery. The real Pierre Lucas's mother and father were married just after the merger of the two biggest aeronautics companies in France and have no interest in art."

"So which art gallery is it?"

"Right, because that's possible to figure out. There have to be hundreds of galleries in Paris, and Pierre is probably the most popular name in France. Assuming he was telling the truth about his first name and what his parents did, it probably wouldn't be their only source of income. So I'd have to ask Interpol to send me the records of anyone rich, living in France, with a son named Pierre, and contributes to or owns an art gallery. You'd be able to hear the laughter all the way across the Atlantic."

"How come she's never brought him up before?"

"From the sounds of this guy, he was the sort of friend you naturally outgrow. How many people did we hang out with in High School that we never speak to now? If someone were to come after you, would you put someone like say Danny Cartaway on your list of suspects? He hung out with us all of the fucking time, but I haven't seen him since graduation."

"Neither have I," Eddie said. "You proposed?"

"Yep," Joe said, "My family has lost their minds."

"How is Molly handling it?" Eddie asked.

"She's rolling with it. Bella tried to curse her yesterday."

"What did Molly say?"

"She taught Bella how to make mayonnaise."

Eddie grinned, "So not afraid of Bella?"

"Apparently Molly had a crazy old man who lived outside her place in Munich. She says that after having threats of Armageddon being brought down on your head, screamed at you in German, it takes a little more than a bored little old lady pretending to curse you in Latin, to scare you."

Eddie grinned, "She's braver than I am. Have you told her family?"

"She called them on Thursday while she was waiting for me to get off work. She's telling Lester today. And before you ask, I'm going to tell Stephanie today. I'm going to see if she wants to meet for lunch."

"Or you can tell her now. She's got a drop-off," Eddie said. "And she's covered in glitter."

"How's the other guy look?"

"Feathers," Eddie said. Joe grinned and went to check it out.

Stephanie was in the parking lot at intake, shaking glitter out of her hair, looking like she had been followed around by pixie on meth.

"If we were still together, I'd be forced to make a comment about cupcakes and sprinkles," Joe said.

"Save it, Morelli," she said, "This crap is like herpes; I will have glitter for the rest of my life."

"What happened?"

"He decided to bolt through a craft store, and he dumped it on my head."

"That doesn't explain why he's covered in feathers."

"Some old ladies were doing a crafting lesson, and they decided to take him down for me with whatever they had on hand."

He stepped back when she shook out more glitter. "I thought you weren't doing skip tracing anymore?" Joe asked.

"He's high-bond, and Les Seebring kicked him over to us. Burrows wouldn't take him because he is too boring. Ranger likes money, and wasn't concerned so much with being bored," she coughed and blew out a sigh, "It probably says something about my life that we have a shop vac at home that only gets used to get random loose substances off of me."

"Want a doughnut?"

"You have some?"

"We're at a police station, Cupcake. If there aren't doughnuts, it means there's a nationwide shortage."

"I'm going to get glitter everywhere."

"There are worse things on nearly every surface in here."

"Not on the doughnuts though, right?"

"The doughnuts are clean."

"You're buttering me up for something."

"Yep."

"How many doughnuts am I going to need for this?"

They walked by the intake desk, and Joe grabbed a box that still had most of its doughnuts. He handed it to her.

"Oh Boy," she said.

Joe led her to an interview room, and she sat down on the sofa sending a cloud of sparkles into the air. "Why aren't you taking me to your office?"

"Because I don't want glitter all over my office."

"That's fair. I look like I got attacked by Guy Diamond."

"Who?"

"The Troll from the movie that farts glitter."

"Haven't seen it," Joe said.

"Julie put it on, and now Lunch Box is obsessed."

"Lunch Box?"

"Ranger's cockatoo. He actually does a fairly decent impersonation of Justin Timberlake."

"I don't really want to know about what tricks Ranger's cockatoo is capable of. What happens in the bedroom is between you two."

"You're an idiot."

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out. "Oh boy," she said again.

"What?"

"Lester was supposed to ride with me today, but he's on another Time Out."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Only when Molly does something to remind him that she has sex."

"Uh oh," Joe said.

"What Uh oh?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I think I know why he's in Time Out," he said with an abashed grin. He rubbed his neck and laughed softly.

"Tell me you didn't peek down her top at her bra while he was watching you?"

"I proposed to her the day I got this promotion."

"What day was that?"

"Last Thursday," he said, "I was feeling lucky."

"And she said no, because it's way too fast, and now you've freaked her out."

"She said yes, and then cooked enough food to feed every Morelli in Trenton for Sunday Football at our place."

She stared at him for a long time and then opened her mouth to say something. Joe reacted swiftly and crammed a Boston Creme in it before she could comment. "No. You don't get to speak unless it's to say congratulations. I know exactly what you're thinking, and you're wrong. We aren't rushing this, and even if we are, it's actually none of your business."

Someone knocked on the door and opened it.

"Yo Morelli," a uniform said, "There's apparently a lot of cars backed up around Tina's bridal. Costanza says we're going to want someone directing traffic. He thought you might want to check it out, in case there's a problem."

"I'm on my way," Joe said. He looked at Stephanie, "Want to come or are you going to sit here and finish eating the box of doughnuts?"

She swallowed a chunk of pastry, "Why are you going to check it out?"

"Molly's new store shares a parking lot with the bridal shop."

She picked up the box of doughnuts and followed him out. "I'll take my own car," she said.

Joe put on his kojack light as he got into the traffic. He was able to get through it to Molly's work and parked next to Molly's car. A Rangeman strolled over.

"What?" Joe asked when he'd opened the door.

"She's trending on Twitter and Instagram."

Joe got out and went to the door. Molly was standing by a display case, taking some flowers out of a vase and replacing them with something else. She caught his eye and beamed. He waited until she was finished, and he walked over to kiss her, hello.

"You're stopping traffic," he said.

"That you're surprised isn't really all that flattering, Detective."

"If you were wearing those boots you wore last Tuesday, it would be no surprise, but you're wearing Crocs."

"My heel broke," she said, "Your mother's on her way over with different shoes."

"Is this normal? Can I retire early and be a kept man?" He asked.

"It's crazy," she said, shaking her head, "Maggie is in my office. She has some books you might want to look at."

"Books?" he asked.

"I have a fan," she said.

"More than one," Joe said. He kissed her again, and he went into the office. Maggie handed him the books. "What are these?"

"Art texts written by a man named Perkin Porkin. I know it sounds like a porn name, but that's the guy's name. He's an expert on contemporary art, and he's an artist himself. He's had several exhibits at MoMA, and he has an eye for picking out major talent. Our favorite florist caught his attention in New York. He was a regular customer of hers, and she had no idea who he was."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," she said, "He's a creepy son of a bitch, but seriously gifted. I didn't know he was one of her customers until today. Anyway, he's written several academic articles on our girl, and he doesn't just stick to flowers."

Joe was flipping through the stack of books, and he came to one called, _Elements of Modern Architecture_.

"She was an architect for like what? A minute?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Maggie said, "It's how I met her. She worked for this firm, mostly designing parking garages for shopping malls and stuff like that. Anyway daddy was working on a project, and I needed a cigarette, and it was colder than a polar bear's frostbitten ass outside. I saw her name on her office door, figured she might be European enough that she might not give a rat's behind if I smoked out of her window. She didn't give a damn."

"You're colorful aren't you?" he said.

"I'm really, really, really rich; it's almost expected," she said dryly. "Actually come outside with me. I need a cigarette, and she would kill me if I did it in here. She'd probably do it with some poisonous flower or something."

Joe chuckled and followed Maggie out back.

"You're telling me why she's in here?" he tapped the book.

"Because this guy, Perkin, is obsessed with her work," she said around her cigarette, as she lit it. She blew out a stream of smoke and smiled happily, enjoying the moment. "Anyways, the day I met Molly her computer was down. She had nothing to do, and IT was dragging its knuckles downstairs. Molly doesn't do bored. When Molly thinks she might get bored, she gets creative. She has to do something, so she had this book of designs, that she called the _What If, Book_. What if Money were no object? What if your client wasn't a pain in the ass and would let you do whatever the hell you wanted? What if you could redesign the Empire State Building? That sort of crap. She didn't just do random sketches, she went through the whole process. She had floor plans, materials lists, cost, you name it."

"There is only one way a fantasy should be that anal," Joe said. "And that ain't it."

Maggie grinned. "Want a good time? Ask Molly how much fun she can be when she gets detail oriented like that. You're going to need to block off a good twenty-four hours. Count on half of that being for recovery. Why do you think Lucien is trying to keep her in reserve?"

Joe returned her grin, "I'll keep it in mind. I think we're getting sidetracked here."

"Sorry, you're hot, and Molly wouldn't be with you if you weren't gifted in the sack. She likes sex too much for it not to be a big part of the relationship. Anyways, everything she designed when she worked for the firm, belonged to the firm, that included her what-if designs."

"Okay," Joe said.

"Six months before her wedding to numbnuts, Perkin Porkin bought those designs."

Joe grinned, and Maggie paused, thinking about that.

"Oh my God, I'm not going to be able to think about this with a straight face now. Perkin Porkin bought Molly's anal fantasies. Now he really sounds like a Porn Star. Like in some nasty porn about corporate takeovers."

Maggie gave herself a shake that was sort of like a grimace.

"There is an entire chapter in there about Molly," she tapped the book. "Read it. It makes her sound like a combination of Frank Lloyd Wright and Rembrandt."

"How good was she as an architect?"

"She was good, but an average sort of good. She's better at the flowers," Maggie said, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "Some of that stuff is inspired, but completely unfeasible. Even if you had zero budget."

"Okay, I'll read it and look up… Perkin."

"Look, Molly said she doesn't want me releasing the hounds on Lucien just yet. But I have dreams about public castration when it comes to him. Molly has always been like she is in there, but it was real. That's a fucking act and a good one, but it's not her. The real Molly would never have come into the office and said, 'I'm just a florist' there was not an ounce of cynicism in her body. It's what was so cool about her. She knew who and what she was and if you didn't like her, she really didn't give a damn. She didn't have time for bullshit and drama. I watched Lucian take her, and systematically break her. On her last day in court she spent hours agonizing about what to wear, she stopped participating in her defense, and I know it was a divorce, but it was like she had to defend every choice she made in her life ever, only to be told how wrong she was to make it, each and every time. If he hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't have spent the last two years looking for her. She would never have accepted that I would just leave her because she lost. I know her, and she wouldn't be telling me to back off unless you're telling her to be careful. I like you, and I can tell how much she loves you, but she was mine first, and I need to know why I can't go after the bastard."

"Because Ranger and I think there's more to this than just Lucien being an asshole. We want to get to the bottom of it. We don't need private investigators getting in the way."

"I have more money than God, honey. Spare no expense. If there's something that would go faster through a private lab, a piece of equipment you need, just say the word and you'll have it. I will pull every string I have."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Molly came out back and looked longingly at the cigarette Maggie was holding. "Absolutely not," Maggie said. "No way. Under no circumstances."

"God I miss it," Molly said.

"Yeah but you quit because you got pneumonia twice in one winter."

"I know," Molly said, "But I still miss it."

"I know," Maggie said, "I would too if I ever had to give it up."

"Shouldn't you be working? Aren't I your boss?"

"I'm volunteering," Maggie dropped her cigarette and ground it out. "Okay, I'm going back to work. You're making a killing today by the way. Von G never had a day like this. I'm on the phone to suppliers attempting to get you emergency stock."

"Is it a problem?" Molly asked.

"Nothing I can't throw money at to fix," Maggie said. "It's what I'm good at."

"How artificial are these numbers?" Molly asked.

"Very," Maggie said. "I think in reality you're going to be looking at numbers more like your second year of Von G. When you were popular but hadn't done the Met Gala yet. I think if you want those numbers again, you have to open another store in New York and you don't have the dough for that yet."

"I can live with that," Molly said. "I was spread way too thin towards the end."

"The money was nice though," Maggie said.

She squeezed Molly's shoulder and was about to go inside and happened to look down. Molly's watch caught her eye. She took Molly's hand and looked at it. "Why the fuck didn't you sell it?"

"Because in spite of everything, it still meant a lot to me," Molly said.

"I should have looked harder for you," Maggie said. "I just never dreamed you would be back in New Jersey. I guess I suspected you'd be in Europe somewhere."

Maggie's phone buzzed in her hand, "That was quick," she said.

"What?" Molly asked.

"I'm your landlord now. Your rent just got really cheap."

"Maggie," Molly scolded.

"You know me, my sweet. I'll get bored with this by Christmas, and I'll go crawling back to daddy and be out of your hair. For now, I'm going to throw my weight around," she said. She kissed Molly's cheek and went back inside.

"She always like this?" Joe asked.

"No," Molly said, "She's feeling guilty, and she's trying to spend her way out of the feeling. She's probably going to replace most of my shoes, next."

"I refuse to believe that you hit it off over a cigarette," he said.

"It really happened that way," Molly said. "I may have bummed a cigarette off of her at the time as well. On another note, I have a problem, and I'm glad you're here."

"Okay," he said.

"I'm a semi-traditional kind of girl."

Joe grinned, "I did notice that."

"When we get married, I definitely want to take your name."

"Glad to hear it," he said.

"I still have to be Molly Von G at work though. Maggie is making it my brand. I'm worried you're going to be upset, because you're a semi-traditional kind of guy, from a very traditional family."

"Are you going to be my wife?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," she said, "I am. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Is it going to say Morelli on your Driver's license?"

"Yep," she said, "And on my passport; everywhere but my business cards."

"Do you want to have my kids?"

"Yes," she said.

"Are you mine?"

"Absolutely," she said.

"That's all I really care about."

"If I said no about the name change?"

"To paraphrase Meat Loaf, three out of four ain't bad."

"You know what sucks?" she asked.

Joe grinned, and she laughed. "Sorry, my mind is firmly in the gutter. Your nipples are hard, and it's having an effect on me," he said.

"Mine isn't far from the gutter either. We haven't had a chance to celebrate getting engaged. I sort of pictured a day in bed, wearing nothing but a smile and my ring."

Joe grinned and pinned her against the wall. There was a lot of tongue involved in the kiss, and he investigated her underwear choice under her skirt. Lace thong and he was pretty sure he knew which one, which made him groan against her lips. "We have to stop before I have to bust us for public indecency."

"I have to go pay for a kitchen renovation," she said.

"Have fun. I'll handle dinner tonight."

The problem with this goodbye was that neither of them moved, he was about to kiss her again when Mary coughed. "I'm about ready to get the hose."

"I'll be right there," Molly said. Molly gave Joe a fast hard peck on the lips, "Go solve crimes."

He stepped aside, and she followed Mary into the store. He bent to pick up the books he'd dropped to take full advantage of Molly's compliant nature. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and made the order to have some officers on crowd control and directing traffic, and then he went back through the store. Stephanie was there, and Molly had her standing on some newspaper. People were standing back while Molly sprayed a can's worth of hairspray on Stephanie. "Don't move. Let the adhesive dry," Molly said.

"You're sure this will work?" Stephanie said.

"Yeah," Molly said, "Glitter is an occupational hazard in my business. I have a case of hairspray under the counter for spills like this."

"Okay, but when I shower, the hairspray is going to dissolve, and I'll still have glitter."

"I know. So you're going to take really good, top shelf, olive oil, and you're going to put it in your hair like shampoo. You're going to let it sit for ten minutes and then you're going to rinse. Then you're going to take coconut oil, and you're going to coat yourself in it, and you're going to gently scrub, with your hands, not a sponge or towel, until it's all gone. It'll get rid of most of it. I'd throw out the clothes if you're not attached to them. If you are, more hairspray and then wash them one article at a time. Ella will take care of your carpet and shower."

"She knows what to do?"

"Who do you think taught me how to get rid of it?" Molly said with a grin.

"What are you? Like a sexy Ella 2.0?" Stephanie asked.

"Well if that's not the biggest compliment of my life. Thank you," Molly said. "Good luck."

Molly accepted some hand cream from Mary, and then a wet wipe, and cleaned sparkles off of her hands. "I have an appointment, it was nice talking to you."

"You too, and thanks," Stephanie said. Stephanie took a tentative step, and the glitter stayed put. She still looked like a molting disco ball, but she wasn't contagious anymore. Stephanie followed Joe out to the parking lot.

"I think I'm high from the hairspray and inhaled glitter. I'm going home."

"Are you fit to drive?"

"I'm just wondering if glitter infestation is an insurance write off or not."

"How are you still insurable?"

"They love me," she said, "You should see my deductibles. Hell, they are worth more than some of my recent cars. I'm out, and I'm monumentally pissed at you."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to like her, and I have to, because she's family."

"She and Ranger do just fine being barely cordial."

"I know. Unfortunately, Molly's cool, and I'm happy for you. Really happy."

"Good," he said.

"It hurts a little though."

"I know the feeling exactly," Joe said.


	22. Chapter 22

_**AN: Writer's block is a bitch. One minute you're feeling good about what you've written, and the next you've lost all confidence and want to re-work everything. I had to step away for a bit before I deleted everything in a fit of frustration; thank you so much for sticking with me. When last you heard from me, Molly had shown up to work to discover large crowds outside waiting for her. Joe told Stephanie about his engagement to Molly, and they went to the flower shop to see what the commotion at the store was about. Maggie produced a stack of textbooks written by a man named Perkin Porkin, who was a former customer of Molly's and a bit of a fan. Here's a nice long chapter to make up for my absence. Thanks again for your reviews, they keep me going!**_

Joe put the book down and added it to the stack. He spent the day reading about Molly. According to Porkin, she was damn near a modern-day DaVinci. Porkin was absolutely obsessed with her work. Her sketches were interesting, but Maggie was right, she was better at the flowers. She was doing what she was good at. Porkin did acknowledge this as well, but he thought that she was just starting to come into her talent when she quit architecture. He blamed it on a hotel in Manhattan called Metalla.

Metalla had been a project cursed with problems, the property sold half a dozen times until Maggie's father bought it. It was forty floors of luxury. The thing about Metalla that made it special was that it was entirely created out of reclaimed materials. There was a massive water feature that was made up of an enormous multi-storied, multi-tiered hanging gardens that appeared to float. These plants provided some of the air filtration for the hotel. Then there were the rooms, done in reclaimed lumber, carpets made out of recycled sea plastic, the counters weren't made up of granite, despite the look, but were made out of recycled glass to look like concrete or granite. There was no plastic in the rooms save for the fibers used to make the carpets and anything in the televisions.

Metalla had reportedly been Molly's brainchild. She had come up with it between projects, and her boss appropriated it. Some said he took them after Maggie brought them to the attention of her father. They made some changes to the appearance of the exterior, but the designs were entirely Molly's. She was consulted heavily on the project, but she wasn't given any of the credit for it. If she had been, according to Perkin, while the world might have been denied the beautiful, but transitory masterpieces she created, they would have been treated to the sort of brilliance one sees only once in a century. Her talent was a bud plucked before it had a chance to blossom into genius.

He then pointed out the elements of her designs that appeared all over the city, ripped from her 'Book of Dreams,' and she rarely got any credit, and certainly none of the remunerations she deserved.

Joe picked up his desk phone, and called her, "How much did you make a year as an architect?"

"Uhh, about a hundred grand."

"Nice," Joe said.

"Yeah," she said, "I worked for a big firm who paid their employees well."

"You were a junior, but you had an office?"

"Yeah," she said, "My boss liked to put the more outside the box thinkers in offices because he didn't want them distracted by the chaos of cubical living."

"You liked it there?"

"I did," she said, "It just wasn't something I thought I could see myself doing for the rest of my life."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"Because I want to be involved in taking what's in my head and making it a reality. There's too much in the building of a project that I have to watch other people do, that drives me crazy. It's similar to the part of my brain that gets agitated at a wedding when I see people make changes to my stuff."

"It had nothing to do with Metalla?"

"Metalla was a fun project. I spent months researching sustainable materials, and engineering the gardens."

"Do you get credit for it?" Joe asked.

"I got a huge bonus that more or less covered the down payment on our apartment, and it's the reason I made 100k a year. It was a team effort though."

"Was the original design yours?"

"Sort of," Molly said, "The general concept was me, but like I said, it was a team effort. The project was enormous."

"So it's not the reason you quit architecture."

"No, it really was because at heart I'm a three-year-old who doesn't want people touching her stuff. If anything, Metalla made me more of a team player. Sorry Detective, I have to go, or your sister is going to start ripping out my fingernails."

"I may not be home until seven."

"You do what you gotta do. I'll order a pizza if you're going to be later than that."

He got off of the phone, and Eddie walked in holding a file. He looked at the books on the desk. "What's that?" Eddie asked.

"A selection of art textbooks that were written by a man with a name I won't say out loud, and each one of them contains a large section dedicated to Molly. There are a few art courses that have her as part of the syllabus."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "Some of it is true. I saw her work on the weekend, and when allowed to do whatever she wants, this guy's right; it goes beyond crafts and floral arrangements and is well into the art category."

"Yeah, and you would know, being an art lover and all," Eddie said.

"I figure it's like pornography, you know it when you see it," Joe said with a shrug, "Anyway, she's built up a bit of a cult following, thanks to this guy. Half of the insanity at the flower shop today was all about people who wanted selfies and an autograph from Molly."

"Well as interesting as that is, I have something more important to talk about. I think I know who our female vic from the fire is," Eddie said. "Her name is Corinna Stone. She was eliminated early on by the computer because she's not white. The system has her listed as African American, but she's biracial, and her complexion is more Nicole Richie than Drake."

"Why do we think she's our vic?" Joe asked.

"She was born in Newark and spent her formative years there. At the age of twelve both of her parents were killed in a motor vehicle accident, and her older brother, an artist going to the Sorbonne in Paris, took custody of her. She lived in Paris until she got early acceptance to NYU and she moved back to New York. Her school was in the 6e arrondissement… did I say that right?" He'd pronounced it like he was saying 'Aaron dissed mint.'

"No," Joe said.

"What is the 'e' after the 6?"

"I dunno," Joe reached for his phone and dialed Molly.

"Hey," she said. "Again."

"If there's an 'e' after a number in French, what does it mean?"

"What's the number?"

"6."

"It's like putting a 'th' after a number in English to get sixth. In French, it would be sixième."

"And for Eddie's sake, could you pronounce…"

"Aaron dissed mint," Eddie said.

"You want me to say, le sixième arrondissement?"

"That's right."

"You called me in the middle of the day, for the second time in half an hour, when I have 800 customers, because Eddie gave you an excuse to hear me speak French, didn't you?"

"I really did. Am I in trouble?"

"No, just next time ask me to say something more interesting. Can I go to work now?"

"I dunno, wanna say something dirty?"

"No," Molly said.

"Eddie won't understand."

"Oh, I know that," Molly said, "I just don't want him to try to guess what I'm saying and run it through Google translate. He might end up thinking we like to do unspeakable things to rabbits or something."

She hung up, and Eddie looked at Joe. "They spent high school in the same part of town. I looked. Molly's school was in the same Arrondissement. We thought that maybe it was a possibility that this woman was taught to move like Molly. Why bother when she only needs to be visible from behind for a few seconds, and you already have a woman with Molly's height and build, who's history reads almost identically to Molly's. Newark to Europe, and school in Paris."

"But not the same school," Joe said. Eddie checked his file.

"No, Stone went to was an all girl's public school called, Lycée D'Olympe de Gouges. Molly went to Ecole Jean-Auguste-Dominique-Ingres, which was a co-ed private school, that stressed creativity."

"So an Art School."

"No," Eddie said. "According to their website, they focus heavily on the creative aspects of Science, Technology, Engineering, Art, and Math. They teach the fundamentals, and the students are encouraged to explore new ideas and creative solutions to problems."

"It's not really surprising that Molly would thrive there," Joe said. "What else do we know about our suspected victim?"

"Not much," Eddie said, "The file is pretty slim. The brother reported her missing about a year ago, and didn't give the police much. He didn't know what she was doing, who she was with, who she was hanging out with, or anything. Her roommate called and said that she came home and found Corinna's stuff gone, and when Ralph Stone called the school, it turned out that she'd dropped out at the beginning of the semester. There was nothing strange in her social media, nothing odd about her behavior, and she had a 3.7 GPA. She was working on a project for an investigative journalism class, that she was really into, and then she was gone. Her professor didn't know what she was writing about, part of the assignment was to find a story, and run with it. She was supposed to check in with another student, once a week. Her partner said that Corinna was in good spirits, but she didn't know what Corinna was writing about either."

"Did you run her name through the system?"

"NYPD did back when she went missing, and there was a whole lotta nada."

There were prints on file, recovered from the door frame in Corina's bedroom, and probably belonged to her. Joe ran them through the system and got a hit, not in New York, or New Jersey, but Vermont.

"The prints on the file match Sierra Birtch, arrested for solicitation in July of last year, about a month before her brother reported her missing in New York. She looks a lot like Corinna Stone," Joe said. "Which begs the question, why didn't she pop when they ran her prints as a missing person?"

"Where?" Eddie asked.

"Manchester, Vermont," Joe said. "Got off with probation."

"She has to be our victim," Eddie said.

"Her DNA is on file," Joe said. "Run it against our vic's."

"Well that's a nice dream, but there's still about thirty people ahead of us in line with far more pressing cases," Eddie said.

"Call Kody, get him to use his federal fast pass," Joe said.

"That is with Kody's fast pass," Eddie said.

"Midas Maggie told me today that she's willing to foot the bill for this investigation," Joe said. "I think it's time she met Kody, don't you?"

"Think she'd be willing to pay for the DNA test?"

"She basically told me she'd build us a new lab if that's what it took to keep Molly safe," Joe said.

"I'd settle for a fresh coat of paint in the squad room, and maybe a new chair at my desk."

"That's going to help Molly, how?"

"Well if we spackle over those two holes by the whiteboard, we won't be able to get distracted over the fact that it looks like a pair of steel nipples were slammed into the wall on a cold day, and we'll be able to focus more on the investigation briefings. And I can work longer hours if my left ass cheek isn't asleep, because of the way my chair lists to the left."

"Eddie, your chair is the best one in the bullpen," Joe said. "Mine was held together with duct tape, and I was getting scoliosis from it."

"Nah, we all use your chair whenever we feel like we need chiropractic adjustments," Eddie said.

"Call Kody, and see how he feels about using a private lab," Joe said. "If he's not down with it, see how he feels about Midas Maggie throwing her weight around."

Joe ran a search on Corinna's brother, while Eddie was making the call. Ralph Stone was doing a lot of small exhibitions in Paris and doing well for himself until he got offered a show in New York at a prestigious gallery. He moved back to the US when that show became a success and sold a lot of work out of his studio. A little further digging showed that the offer for the show came after a glowing review by Art Critic, Perkin Porkin.

Joe pulled up Ralph's social media profile, and until about July, the banner on all of his social Media pages was a picture of his sister asking if anyone had seen her. Then it changed to a picture of him at work in his studio. It might have been a sign that he'd given up, and believed that she was dead, or that someone else was handling his social media for him, a trip through his history proved otherwise. While his banner may have changed, every day he posted new pictures of Corinna in different locations, different outfits, all asking if someone had seen her. One photo, in particular, caught Joe's attention. Corinna and Ralph at the Shore. Ralph was shirtless, with his arm around his little sister, showing off a Creation of Adam tattoo that covered a bunch of scars.

"Where are we with the Forensic Anthropologist?" Joe asked when Eddie got off of the phone.

"She sent us a composite, this morning but it didn't pop in the facial recognition software."

"How accurate is the cranial reconstruction?" Joe asked.

"I dunno," Eddie said.

"Lemme see the composite?" Joe asked.

Eddie opened the file and handed Joe the printout.

"There's a resemblance," Joe said. "Call her."

Eddie made the call and sent the missing person's photograph over to the Anthropologist. He spoke to her for about five minutes and disconnected. "She said it's not an exact science, but with a face to compare the skull to, she's reasonably confident that Corinna Stone is our Victim."

"Bring her brother in," Joe said. "He's the guy that tagged my car. I think we're going to find out he didn't have a choice."

Finch knocked on Joe's door an hour after Eddie made the call to have Ralph located and brought to Trenton. "He's here," Finch said.

"I want you to put him in an interview room, and I want you to stand in the corner and observe him. Eddie and I will be in there, in a minute."

Joe went over the ME's report for the fifteenth time, at least. There was a detail, that wasn't in Corinna's Missing Persons report, that was on the body of the victim. A tattoo on her back, spanning across her shoulder blades. The ME thought it might be three figures. There was nothing in the missing person report or the police report about Corinna having a tattoo. Still, she may have acquired it after both reports were filed.

He would ask Stone. Eddie was waiting for him in the bullpen. "Finch put him in an interview room, with cameras. How do you want to handle this?"

"Gently," Joe said.

The room was the most comfortable they had. A place to question witnesses that was more comfortable than an interrogation room. There was a discrete camera on a table in the corner to record the interviews. There were cordless blinds on the windows so the interviewees could have privacy if they needed it, and a leather sofa that had seen more exhausted cops take a nap on it than Joe was sure people really wanted to know. He knew for a fact that more than just napping had taken place on it more than once as well. Not from personal experience, but because he'd walked in on it. Most of the time though, it was used for this; for a family member to have a comfortable place to sit while they received terrible news.

Two comfortable chairs were facing the sofa and a sturdy, serviceable 70's era metal framed coffee table, with a heavy, wood, top. Stone was sitting on the couch and leaped to his feet when Joe and Eddie walked in.

"Where did you find her?" Stone demanded.

"Sit down Mr. Stone," Eddie said. "My name is Detective Gazzerra. This is Acting Captain Morelli."

"Tell me you don't have her in holding right now. She needs a hospital and…" Stone said.

"Sit down, Ralph," Joe said.

"No," Ralph said, shaking his head vehemently. "I know why you want me to sit down. If I sit down… If I sit down, you're going to tell me… No."

"We don't know anything for sure yet," Joe said, "Please sit."

He sat down, and Joe waited for him to collect himself.

"On the 3rd of August, a body was recovered from a building fire, that we have been unable to identify. We believe there is a chance it could be your sister. We don't know anything for certain yet," Joe said.

"Why do you think it's my sister?"

"We're checking the DNA against the criminal record of a woman who was arrested in Vermont on a prostitution charge. The fingerprints on that file match the partial fingerprints in your sister's missing person report. I'd like you to look at a mugshot, to confirm that the woman using the name Sierra Birtch is, in fact, your sister, Corinna Stone."

He nodded, and Joe showed him the mug shot. He stared at it for a long time and then handed it back to Joe. "When was that taken?" Stone asked.

"A month before you filed the Missing Persons report," Joe said. "Is that your sister?"

He nodded. "It's Corrie. I didn't know she'd been busted."

"Now your report said that Corrie didn't have any distinguishing marks like a tattoo or piercings."

"She didn't," he said. "Not when I filed the report."

"Then there's hope," Eddie said. Joe gave Eddie a look telling him to stop that train of thought. Stone's expression said that he had seen his sister since the report was filed. She had a tattoo. It was a look that Eddie missed completely. "Our Medical Examiner says that our victim had a large back tattoo."

Stone slammed his fist down on the coffee table hard enough that his hand was going to hurt for days. Then he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and started crying. "Fuck!" He yelled and punched the table again, this time there was a crack, and since the table looked unscathed, Joe was pretty sure that Stone had just broken his hand.

Joe got up from his chair, and moved to the sofa, and kicked the table away so Stone couldn't hurt himself further, "Get him some ice," he told Eddie.

Eddie got the ice pack from the freezer in the break room and came back to them. Joe held it on Stone's already purpling hand. The man hardly noticed, and when he'd cried himself numb, it was Molly's coffee that brought him out of it.

"Oh wow," Stone said. "This is…"

"Really good coffee?" Joe said.

"It's from the Captain's special stash," Eddie said, "His Fiancée makes it. Sometimes when she comes to the station, if we're really lucky, she'll make a pot in the break room. She has to do it in secret because if it's made public, there's a stampede to get a cup."

"It reminds me of the Café in the Jardin du Luxembourg, in Paris. My sister and I went there every Sunday. Me to paint, Corrie to write."

"The Captain's Fiancée went to school in the same arrondissement. She ran through that same park and probably drank at the same Café," Eddie said.

"Really?" Stone asked, "When?"

"You probably saw her," Eddie said. "She was there when you were. Short, slender, purple hair?"

"It's not ringing any bells," Stone said.

"Why did you go to that park?"

"We had this rule, Sundays were for artistic self-indulgence. Not work. And that garden is beautiful, and great for people watching."

"Corrie liked to write?" Joe asked.

"She was a Journalism major at NYU," Stone said. "I told her not to take it. She wasn't even interested in Journalism. She took it because she wanted to be a mystery writer, and she knew that to get published, you needed to have a platform. She thought if she worked for the student newspaper and took Journalism, she'd have some writing credits to her name. And she's dead because of it, and because I valued the life of a dog over hers."

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"Corrie had been living in New York for about a year, and she was considering dropping out of school. She was staying in for this Investigative Journalism course. Corrie wanted to learn proper investigative techniques so that she could write about investigations in an informed way. She was going to do a piece on the inner workings of a police department and why it's not like TV. Her professor told her that it wasn't sexy enough. He said that what she was looking for was a scandal or something to give her material for an exposé."

"Did she find anything?" Eddie asked.

"She met a call girl at one of the police stations she was going to write about. This woman was waiting to be processed and convinced Corrie that not only could she write a helluva story about what it was like to be a call girl, but she could also make enough money off of it to put herself through school without a mountain of debt. She said that a lot of her girls were doing that."

"And Corrie took her up on the offer," Joe said.

Stone nodded and took a sip of the coffee.

"Corrie told her friends she had a new boyfriend she was seeing, and she was spending a lot of time at his place, but she was working. Then one night she didn't come home, and she always called when she said she wasn't going to be home. Her roommate called me, and we went to the police. They told us she probably got caught up and fell asleep. They said they'd look into it. We drove all over the city checking hospitals and whatever and got nowhere. We went back to the apartment, and that's when we found that her things were gone. The police said there was no sign of a struggle, and that while they would file the missing persons report, it looked like she'd run away.

We tracked down the call girl that recruited her, and she told us about Corrie's story and gave us Corrie's working name and email. I accessed it remotely, and we found the jobs."

"Anyone stand out?" Joe asked.

"Most of it was just businessmen looking to… you know. But there were emails from this one woman that Corrie worked with sometimes. She was called Lise. She sounded worried because she couldn't reach Corrie. Then there was one that said she was sorry about 'that night.' She should have warned Corrie. I emailed this woman, and she agreed to meet with me."

"Why was she sorry?" Joe asked.

"Lise was supposed to be the one who went to a client that night. He'd specifically requested someone petite, with dark hair, who could speak French. Lise was given the job, and she went to the apartment. Something about the place freaked her out. She got a bad vibe from it, and then the man came out, and she said he looked and acted relatively normally, but he scared her, so she left, and Corrie was called in. That was the last time anyone saw my sister. We told the police, and they said that there was every chance that she was dead. They investigated the agency she worked for, and it turned out that she'd been sold to a guy on the internet who went by the handle F4tB0ySl1m. They said there was absolutely no way to trace him, and that Corrie was gone."

"What happened in the summer that made you stop looking?"

"In May, I got an email from F4tB0ySl1m," he said. "He told me that he had my sister. He said she was very well trained by that point, but she was just a substitute for the real prize. He told me that if I did what he told me to, I could have her back. Then he sent me a video of her, reading the paper, while some guy in a ski mask gave her a tattoo on her back."

"What was the tattoo?" Joe asked.

"Raphael's Graces," he said. "He said that he chose a renaissance painting because of my tattoo. It was beautiful."

"Did you bring it to the police?" Joe asked.

"F4tb07sl1m told me that if I did, she would be killed and it wouldn't be an easy death. I had to do exactly what he said."

"What did he want you to do?" Eddie asked.

"Nothing at first," he said. "Then I got a call on July 3rd saying that I was to go to this bar in Trenton on the 4th where I was to intercept this guy on his way to a date. I was to pay him $10,000 to call his date and feed her some lame story about being married, with a pregnant wife and a hall pass."

"Did F4tb0ysl1m say why?" Joe asked.

"He told me that he could not allow someone precious to lower her standards so far," Ralph said.

"Did he speak with a French accent?" Eddie asked.

"No," Ralph said. "He…He sounded like Stewie from Family Guy."

"Did he ask you to do anything illegal?"

He nodded. "He sent me an outfit a couple of days later and told me to go to this house on Slater Street where I was to vandalize a Jeep parked in front of it. I did what he said, and then he told me it wasn't enough. A man showed up at my door with a package of poisoned sausages, and he told me that I had to feed them to a dog at the address I'd been to the night before. They hadn't counted on him, and they needed access to the house. They told me that on Saturday I was to go to the house and feed the dog the package of sausages. They said he was friendly for the most part and that he ate everything, so there was no need to worry about him being fussy. I got into the house, and I tell you, this was the nicest dog in the world. I couldn't do it, but he stole one from me. Then this older woman showed up, and I hid in the basement."

"Uhh boss," Eddie said. "I think maybe you should step out now."

"Nope," Joe said. "I'm not moving." Was he pissed about Bob? Yes, but the poisoning wasn't new information. Stone may have been holding the sausage, but he wasn't the one behind the attempt on Bob.

"What's wrong?" Stone asked.

"You're talking about his dog," Eddie said.

"Look," Stone said, quickly. "I didn't want to do it. He took it from me before I could stop him, and I don't even think he chewed it. He inhaled it and horked it back up."

"I'm well aware of his eating habits," Joe said. "What happened when you failed?"

"I called Stewie and told him that someone took the dog away before I could finish the job, and he told me that I was allowed one failure. He hung up on me, and a few days later I got a call saying I should check my mailbox. I did and found a set of keys to a Town Car and instructions. I was to make my way to a private club called Blades where I was to go to the parking garage and find the car the keys belonged to. Then I was to wait for this man in a yellow BMW to get there. He was going to get into the car, and I was to drive him to the only destination programmed into the GPS."

"Where did it take you?"

"To this place in Canada, near a border crossing."

"How did you get across the border?" Joe asked.

"The guy I picked up had false passports for both of us, and we drove over. The town on the other side of the bridge was called Johnstown, I think. It wasn't really a town, it was more like a dozen houses and a gas station. We drove to this old farmhouse on the River about five minutes from the town, and when we went inside, this man was waiting for us."

"Stewie?" Eddie asked.

"No," he said. "This guy had a beautiful speaking voice that suited him. He looked like the Angel Gabriel if he were stoned out of his tree. He knew the guy I was driving. They embraced and went into the living room, where they started speaking about things going too far." "They were comfortable speaking in front of you?"

"They were speaking French," Ralph said. "I don't think they knew that I was fluent. It was weird hearing it though."

"But they speak French in Canada so not that weird," Eddie said.

"In that part, it's pretty hit and miss," Ralph said, "And Canadian French is about as similar to French, French as American English is to British English. This was proper Parisian French."

"What did they say?" Joe asked.

"The guy I drove out there was really freaking out. He said, 'I fucked up. I shouldn't have followed her. I know he said I wasn't allowed contact anymore, but he promised that he wouldn't let anyone touch her, and now he's letting other men fuck her.' The other guy, Gabriel, he told my passenger that he should have let him in on the plan, and if he had, it wouldn't have gone down like that."

"What happened after that?"

"Gabriel and the other guy went upstairs, and I got a call saying that I was to drive to the Ottawa Airport and catch a flight back to New York. He said my ticket was paid for already under the name that was on my false passport."

"What was the name?"

"Michael Olegna," Stone said. "It's a bad joke. Olegna is Angelo backward."

Eddie made a note. "Did you ever hear any of them mention a woman named Molly Von G?"

"As in Molly Von Grimmelschaussen?" Stone asked.

"You've heard of her?" Eddie asked,

"Of course I've heard of her. Everybody in the art world has heard of her."

"Really?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Stone said.

"Why?" Joe asked. "I thought she was a florist?"

"That's just her chosen medium," Stone said. "How do I explain this? Have you ever been to Paris?"

"No," Joe said.

"To one of the big art museums in New York then?"

"On a school trip once," Joe said.

"Did you see anything done by someone like Monet, or Van Gough, or Rembrandt. Someone big? An artist you've seen hundreds of times in books, but never in real life until that trip."

"Yes," Joe said.

"It was different right? There was something about it that touched you. Even though you were an idiot teenaged boy who probably thought the trip was boring."

"The Crucifixion and Last Judgement, by Jan Van Eyck," Joe said.

"Had you seen it in a book before?"

"Our teacher made us study it," Joe said. "It was part of our assignment on the field trip, to look at it up close."

"So the subject matter wasn't a surprise, you knew what to expect."

"Yes," Joe said.

"There was something about the colors, the light, being near it that drew you in more than it ever could in a book."

"Yeah," Joe said.

"The masters, they are able to do that, and it doesn't matter what their medium is," Stone said, "There is a belief that these artists are able to see more colors on a conscious level than the average person can. Molly Von G has technical ability that would make her good, but what makes her great, why something even as simple as a small table arrangement makes you stop and stare, is how she manipulates you with color. It's playing to your subconscious. If you look at a bucket of pink carnations, you see a bunch of pink carnations that are largely the same color, she looks at the bucket, and she might as well be looking at a rainbow, the colors will be so different."

"How did you hear about her?"

"This art critic introduced me to some of her work when she still had her store in New York."

"Was this critic named Perkin Porkin?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Stone said. "How did you guess?"

"He's written about Molly a few times," Joe said.

"What does this have to do with my sister?"

"The explosion that killed your sister took place in Molly Von G's shop," Eddie said.

"I don't understand," he said, "Molly Von G is in New Jersey?"

"Yes," Joe said.

"Oh my God, she's the woman they were talking about."

"I think so, yes," Joe said.

"Are you hiding her or something? Is that why Stewie had me go to your house? To look for information about where she was?" Stone asked.

"No," Joe said. "She's the woman who made your coffee."

He showed Stone pictures of Brasseau and Lucas, and he nodded. "That's them. The Gabriel guy is older now, not as pretty."

"How?"

"I could draw him for you," Stone said. Joe sent Finch to get a sketch pad and paper.

"Did you ever see Stewie? Is it possible that he and Perkin Porkin were the same man?"

"No," Stone said. "Stewie is definitely British, and his voice is sort of nasally. Perkin speaks with a deep baritone voice. He sounds like he's from Boston but trying to hide it."

"What does he look like?" Joe asked.

"Really skinny white guy," Stone said. "He looks like he's sick, but he's not. He's just skinny. He had dark eyes, and I'm pretty sure he's bald."

"Why?"

"He wears a lot of wigs," Stone said.

"What about how he dressed?" Joe asked.

"Kind of like a cross between a hipster and 90's grunge."

"There's a difference?" Eddie asked.

"Skinny jeans and scarves?" Stone said. "Am I going to jail?"

"No," Joe said. "You've got a pretty strong duress defense. The DA isn't going to want to touch it, provided of course that you're willing to testify against Porkin when we catch him. We're going to need your help though."

"Anything," Stone said. "Why would they want my sister though? Why her?"

"She was a decoy, for Molly."

"I've seen pictures of Molly," he said, "They look nothing alike."

"We think she was chosen for the way she moved," Eddie said. "Molly and your sister have remarkably similar backgrounds. Born in New Jersey, went to high school in neighboring districts in Paris, moved to New York. They have a similar body type, and from a distance, seen walking into a store she could pass for Molly for a few seconds."

Stone nodded and started to cry again. Joe looked at Eddie. "Stay with him, get him to draw Perkin, and Lucas. I'm going to give Kody a heads up and talk to IAB. Then I want Finch to do a deep dive into everything he can think of regarding Perkin."

Eddie nodded, "Boss, the magazine that was in the Judge's briefcase when he died?"

"Yes?"

"Didn't you say there was a feature in it about an art critic? Do you think it's the same guy?"

"Check," Joe said.

Joe left the interview room and went to his office, where he sat down at his desk and looked at the files now stacked on top of it. They were the past cases Eddie had been going through that morning, and Joe picked up the top one. It was a guy who killed his neighbor's family because she wouldn't have an affair with him. He killed three people; what the hell was he doing out of prison? Joe read the file and threw it away in disgust. The killer was found not guilty by reason of insanity. He should have been away forever, but he was out in the general public again. The whole thing just made him fucking angry, and he backhanded the stack of files off of the desk.

He picked up the phone, and started to punch the number for IAB, and stopped himself. He hung up, and he dialed Molly instead.

"Avez-vous besoin de s'envoyer en l'air, Inspecteur?" Molly asked when she answered the phone.

"Molly! I'm shocked!" Maggie said in the background, and Joe grinned.

"I thought you weren't going to talk dirty to me over the phone, in case Eddie googled and thought we were into something weird?" Joe said.

"It was more crass than dirty," Molly said. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you busy?" He asked.

"It's slowing down now. I have two more appointments, and then I'm shutting things down. I'm going to put together a few arrangements, and then I'm heading home. I think I'll be there by seven if you want to order dinner."

"I'm not sure what time I'm coming home tonight. I could be late," Joe said.

"Do you want me to bring something to the station?" Molly asked.

"I don't think I'm going to be that late," Joe said. "How about whoever gets home first orders dinner?"

"I can do that," Molly said. "Joe, is everything all right? You don't normally let me change the subject that quickly when we're talking about sex."

"We're pretty sure we've ID'd the body from your store. We're waiting on DNA to confirm, but I don't think we need it. We just informed the brother."

"Shit," Molly said, "Is there more?"

"Yes."

"Do I want to know?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Joe said.

"Are you in the headspace to tell me right now?"

"No," he said.

"Okay," she said. "Hang on."

He heard her ask Mary to have JigSaw come inside. "Oh for heaven's sake, he doesn't bite. Just tell him that Joe called with some information, and I'm uncomfortable without JigSaw in the room. He'll deal with it. And you… Stop being a pain in the ass," Molly said.

"My sister is being a pain in the ass?" Joe said.

"No, Maggie is. She asked JigSaw if his 'Get Busy' playlist had Getting Jiggy With It, on it and won't stop singing, 'nana nana na nana,' whenever he walks by. He retreated to his car to do his crossword puzzle."

"He's not on the door?"

"No," Molly said. "Big Dog and Carl are currently on crowd control with a couple of Ric's men whose names I forget. I'll bring JigSaw up to the conference room with me, so I'm not alone with strangers."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm learning all kinds of things about you that I didn't know, by the way."

"Oh like what?" Molly asked.

"You see more colors than the rest of us."

"Do I? Cool," Molly said. "Don't tell Maggie that though, because she might cancel the truck, she just ordered for me."

"She bought you a truck?"

"Yep a biiiig Toyota Tundra Pickup truck, and it says it's a Crew Max Platinum (whatever that means) with a custom paint job. The color is called Lilac's ghost. Don't worry, it's purple, but it's a gentle purple you're going to think is white."

"I care less about the color than I do about the fact that we're going to have to take out a mortgage to pay for gas."

"It won't be so bad; it's a Hybrid."

"I didn't know it came as a Hybrid."

"The spec sheet she just gave me said it does," Molly said. "It's Maggie though, so it's possible she's having something custom built."

"I honestly don't know how I feel about this," Joe said.

"It's her way of investing in the Cubed Root," she said. "It's a company truck."

"I could probably sell it to myself that way," he said. "She's actually seen one of these things in real life, right? She knows you're going to need a booster seat to see over the steering wheel?"

"I doubt she's seen any kind of pickup truck in real life. Knowing Maggie she probably just heard that Toyotas were reliable and picked the most expensive one on the menu. Annnnd she's nodding at me right now, so that's what she's done."

Joe grinned. "Is she going to do this a lot? Buy you expensive presents?"

"No, she just lost a bet," Molly said, "I wasn't serious, but apparently she was."

Someone said something to Molly that he couldn't make out, but figured she was probably going to tell him she had to get off of the phone.

"My second last appointment is upstairs waiting," Molly said. "I'll see you later."

"I love you," Joe said.

"I love you too," Molly said. "Joe, is whatever you found out today, bad?"

"It's not good," he said. "Just keep JigSaw close."

"Okay," she said.


	23. Chapter 23

_**AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**_

Molly came home and collapsed on the sofa. JigSaw had gone inside to clear the house, and was once more in his car, watching the street. Her arms ached from lifting buckets of flowers. Her mind was whirling with an array of ideas, for a dozen different weddings. One of which was going to be in two months.

She couldn't brain anymore. She was fried. It had been a circus that day, and it felt all wrong. She liked the money; she wasn't going to lie, but it was all so weird. The rest of the week was going to be like that day too. She already had her afternoons completely booked, and if tomorrow was anything like today, she was going to be booked for the month. She couldn't think about that. She needed to shut down for the evening.

Bob whined, and she sat up. He jumped on the sofa beside her, and she flopped back to use him as a pillow. His tail thumped against the side of the couch and he let out a whimpering growl. "Hungry?"

He wiggled around and licked her cheek, "I'm thinking pizza. I can't cook tonight, I'm toast."

Bob barked his approval, and she reached for the landline and dialed Pinos from memory. "We need to figure out what's in their Pizza sauce. It doesn't taste like it comes from a can. There's something about it that's really good. We'll experiment tonight, what do you think?" Apparently, Bob liked the idea of experimentation with food because he barked at her again. She scratched his head.

There was a knock on the door twenty minutes later while she was dozing, using the dog as a pillow. She might have missed it, had Bob not suddenly deprived her of a comfortable place to flop and nearly knocked her off of the sofa. She texted Jig Saw to ask him if she was okay to answer the door and to ask him if he wanted pizza. He and answered back Yes, and No. He was still grouchy because of Maggie. Molly had ordered a Hawaiian pizza just for him, and he'd eat it if she took it out to him. She shoved Bob out of the way, opened the door and took a step back in surprise. The man at the door was wearing a ball cap and golf shirt, but he wasn't from Pino's, and he wasn't carrying her dinner.

"Pierre," she said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm in trouble Molly," he said. "I need your help."

"No," she said. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Are you home alone?"

"No, JigSaw is over there, and my dog's here," she said. As if on cue, Bob growled. There was something to be said about having a medium-sized orange bear to keep you company.

"Aww call him off Molls," Pierre said. "Please, it's me. We've been friends since we were kids."

"Yeah," Molly said, "But you were always more Lucien's friend than mine, and I'm sorry, I can't trust you because he probably sent you. Tell him to read the fine print on his restraining order. If he sent you, he's violating it."

He reached up to caress her cheek, "Don't you remember that night in Milan?"

"Yeah, when you were drunk, and stoned, and tried to get into bed with us?" Molly said and swatted his hand away.

"I kissed you," he said.

"And Lucien dragged you out of our hotel room by your ear and told you to sober up."

"You responded, Molly."

"That's because my eyes were closed and I thought you were Lucien. Now leave," she shoved him back and shifted so Bob could stand between them.

"I need your help, Molly," he said, "I can't find Lucien, and some people are going to hurt me if I don't give them what they want."

"I can't help you. I don't have any money, and anything I owned of value, I sold off already."

She glanced at the car and wondered why the hell JigSaw was still letting Pierre stand there on her step. She realized it was because he was slumped over his steering wheel, either unconscious or dead. She didn't have her panic button on her, her gun was in the safe upstairs, and her cell phone was charging in the kitchen at the back of the house. "What have you done?" She asked breathlessly.

"It's okay, he's just asleep. A fast-acting tranquilizer."

She looked to the cop cars on the street. The night was warm; their windows were open, and nobody was coming to help her. She was willing to bet they were experiencing the same issue JigSaw was. She knew the house was being monitored. If she kicked Pierre in the balls, she could shove him off of the steps and close the new heavy steel door, lock it, and…shit she was a dope. The security panel was right there, in reach, she could mash the keypad and trip the alarm. She lunged for it, Pierre lunged for her, and Bob lunged for Pierre. She closed her eyes and smashed her hand against the security keypad, twice, before Pierre grabbed her, and the sirens in her house blared. Every light inside and out of the house turned on, and the illumination at the door became blinding. She heard Bob yowl, and then she felt the prick of a needle, and she dropped to the ground.

When Molly woke up, she felt like she'd spent the night drinking. She had cotton mouth, and she could hear hospital equipment bleeping at her. She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. She had a splitting headache, and her ears were still ringing from the alarm. She wasn't in a hospital room, she was behind a curtain in an examination area at the ER, and Joe and Ranger were in a hushed conversation at the foot of her bed.

"Joe," she said. "What the hell is going on?"

He spun around and hurried to take her hand, and kiss her forehead. "You've been drugged, they are still trying to identify it."

"Bob?"

"Stephanie has him," Joe said. "The vet checked him out; he's fine and getting spoiled by Stephanie at my mom's house. What happened?"

"I ordered a pizza for dinner and fell asleep on the sofa with Bob while we were waiting for it. Then the doorbell rang, and I texted Jigsaw to make sure it was okay to answer the door. He said yes, and then when I opened it, Pierre was there."

"Pierre?" Ranger asked.

"A friend from high school," Joe said. "Pierre Lucas."

"He was Lucien's best friend up until college," Molly said. "Is everyone else okay?"

"Yeah," Ranger said, "JigSaw is pissed off."

"Did you catch him?"

"No," Ranger said.

"Bob bit him, I think he only got his arm," Molly said.

"I know," Joe said, "He nailed him pretty good too. There was a lot of blood at the front door. They are testing it."

"What did you get on the cameras?"

"Nothing," Ranger said, "The moment he approached the house, the signal scrambled."

"How?" Molly asked, "I thought only you could scramble the signals. I thought Hector protected against that?"

"So did I," Ranger said.

"What did Pierre want?" Joe asked.

"I don't know. He said he was in trouble, and I remember he tried to grab me, and that Bob bit him, but I don't really remember anything else."

"We think he wanted to take you," Ranger said, "We found a white panel van parked up the street. There were restraints and a mattress on the floor in the back."

"What the hell is going on?" She demanded, "I'm a damned florist for Christ 's sake. I'm good Joe, but they are just flowers. Nothing about this is normal. The applause at the wedding, the crowds at the store, the textbooks… none of it makes any sense, and it's way over the top."

"Maybe you aren't giving yourself enough credit," Joe said. Molly looked at Ranger.

"It's not really my area of expertise," Ranger said. "Have you read the books? Do you think he's pumping you up?"

"No I haven't," she said, "I just found out about them, and I haven't had time."

"Perkin was a customer of yours?" Ranger said.

"Yeah," she said, "He was a funny man. You know those flowers Lester likes?"

"The fucked up ones?" Ranger asked. "The drunk alien?"

"Happy Alien," Molly corrected, "The only reason Lester knows about them is because Perkin used to order them whenever they were in season, and he missed a pickup. Lester loves them, so I have them imported for him now."

"Can you describe him?"

"Ummm he was really skinny. I thought he was a cancer patient or something."

"This is the customer that stopped coming around the store, before the wedding?" Joe said. Molly nodded.

"Why did you think he was sick?" Ranger asked.

"He was really really pale, and he wore this bad wig. It was long, wavy and blonde. He always wore these velvet sports jackets, in some shade of dark blue or purple. And he had these frilly shirts that he left open a lot. It was like he was going for a Vampire Lestat sort of vibe. He had these really pale eyes too. Anyway, he came in a lot. He liked to order unusual, and expensive flowers. I gave Joe an orchid he introduced me to."

"Did you get any strange vibes from him?"

"No," she said, "He was just another, wealthy, eccentric, New Yorker. He had an uncanny knack for coming in when the store was quiet. Lucien used to tease me about him all of the time. He said it was like the guy wished he was a cover model for a bodice ripper romance, but he was about a hundred pounds too light and in dire need of a tan."

"Were you monitoring her store back then?" Joe asked, Ranger.

"Our New York Branch back then consisted of four guys in a surveillance van doing freelance B&E jobs to test corporate security. Molly had JigSaw whenever there was an increased threat, and I paid for her security to come from a company called Mockingbird."

"Does it still exist?"

"I bought it out after Molly and Lucien split."

"So you have their security footage," Joe said.

"No," Ranger said. "They used a camera that stored the footage on a flash drive in the unit and wiped the unit once a month. She had two cameras and a security guard to deal with crowd control. Her place was remarkably untouched as far as crime went. No robberies, no vandalism; the worst she had was the odd overzealous customer."

"You could probably find him online," Molly said. "If he's written books, he'll have a website."

"I've had Finch doing just that," Joe said. "We can't find any pictures of him. No passports, no driver's license, nothing. He doesn't even have a credit card. All of his paycheques get directly deposited into an offshore account that we can't access. What we can find on him, is that he was relatively respected as an Art critic and the year Metalla opened, he decided to stop critiquing Art, and he started exhibiting his own work. You bought some of it for one of the suites."

"No I didn't," Molly said, "I wasn't allowed anywhere near the art selection. When it comes to art, unless I'm the one designing it, I'm not at all what you'd call sophisticated. Hell, my favorite artist is Kash Coolidge."

"Molly, your geek is showing," Ranger said.

"Shit," Molly said, "I hate when that happens. My point is, I like art that makes me smile. I don't want to come home to stare at a painting wondering about the allegorical connotations of a splotch of black paint. I don't want something that takes itself seriously. So given a choice between a Normal Rockwell and say something edgier like a Mallory, I'm going to pick Rockwell every damn time."

"Eddie's going to have you sit down with a sketch artist, and he's going to get you to describe Porkin," Ranger said.

"There are going to be some changes around the house for a while until we get this figured out," Joe said.

"I thought as much," Molly said.

"There is going to be a uniformed officer outside of the house at all times. When I'm not home, Jigsaw is inside, and Ranger is going to have men in your store at all times. Anyone guarding you is going to be wearing body cameras monitored by Rangemen at all times. That way if something happens to your guard, Rangeman will know and will get you back up right away. Ranger is giving you access to your personal security footage through your Rangeman login. At the end of the day, you're going to log me in, and I'm going to go through it. I'm not doing it to monitor you; I'm looking for suspicious activity around you. So you're not going to be able to keep secrets from me for a little while. I'm sorry."

"I'll get my privacy back, when?" Molly asked.

"When we catch whoever is behind this."

"You've spoken to Internal Affairs?" Ranger asked Joe.

"I have," Joe said.

"Is it a complication?" Ranger asked.

"Not yet," Joe said.

Ranger's phone went off in his pocket, and he read the screen. "Another one bites the dust," he said with a smirk, and then he let out a bark of laughter shocking everyone in the immediate vicinity. He was still chuckling a few text messages later. "I have to go. Stephanie needs a ride."

"Do I want to know?"

Ranger just grinned and walked away. Molly stared after him. "Are there hallucinogens in my drugs?" She asked.

"Not that we know of," Joe said.

"I've literally known him my whole life, and I have never heard him laugh like that. Ever. What could possibly…"

"The glitter the other day?"

"Yeah?"

"Not the strangest thing that's happened to Stephanie Plum," he said.

"Okay," Molly said. "I want to go home now. Am I allowed?"

"Not until tomorrow. The Crime Lab is going through the house. After you're discharged, we're going to stay at mom's for the night."

After the doctor checked her out to make sure there were no lasting ill effects from whatever she'd been shot full of, Joe took her to his mother's.

It was three in the morning, and she was going to have to be at work in five hours. She was going to be a piece of shit all day. "I'm sort of afraid of what's going to happen when the drugs wear off," she said.

"Too numb to be scared?" Joe asked. She nodded. "We'll catch the son of a bitch."

She nodded again. When they pulled into the driveway, she saw Ram sitting in a black SUV. She went over to him and shook his hand. "Ric says JigSaw is pissed," Molly said, "But he's all right?"

"Yep, they gave him something different than what they gave you. We're all giving him a wide berth, and Carlos is learning how to fix an AC unit in an '84 Cutlass."

"Poor kid," Molly said.

"Yeah," Ram said, "Bobby is gonna hang out on the sofa tonight if that's all right with the both of you? He wants to be close by in case there's a problem."

"Yeah," Molly said, "Where's Lester?"

"In New Hampshire helping out with some surveillance," Ram said. "We haven't told him yet."

She nodded and went inside with Joe. She waved to Bobby on the sofa, and she dragged herself upstairs. She changed out of her work clothes and into one of Joe's t-shirts. She was bone tired, but she couldn't sleep. Joe got into bed with her, and she curled up next to him.

"Who's Kash Coolidge?" Joe asked.

"The artist who painted Dogs Playing Poker," Molly said with a yawn.

"Dogs playing Poker or Norman Rockwell huh," he said, "Interesting."

"Actually I like the Bachelor's Dog the best. When I met Bob, I immediately thought of that painting. Don't know why since the dog in the painting is a Collie."

"Who was the other painter you mentioned?"

"Stanley Mallory," Molly said.

"Did he paint something I would recognize?" Joe asked.

"Yes and no," Molly said, "Lucian and I met him at an exhibition of some of his more famous paintings. God when was that? We were still in college and we were visiting his parents. Pierre had given us four tickets to this black-tie event so we could treat Lucien's mom and dad."

"Why would he have them?"

"It was at his parent's gallery."

"Is that what made you think of Mallory when you said you would choose Rockwell over him any day of the week?"

"I don't know what made me think of Mallory," Molly said. "I remember thinking he was far too charming for his own good. Anyway, the reason you might recognize some of his stuff is that he was famous for a while for painting well-known pieces and subtly altering them, so they made you uncomfortable to look at them. The more well-liked the painting, the creepier he made it. The exhibition we went to showed most of the originals in one room, and then you got to walk through to the other, and it was so creepy. The room was lit exactly the same way, the decor was identical, and yet when you stood in the second room, there was this air of foreboding, like the party scenes in a slasher flick before the first person dies. The longer you were there, the worse the heebie-jeebies got."

"Did you say that to Mallory?"

"No," Molly said, "Lucien and I were looking at a reproduction of a Monet. It's of these two women sitting under some lilacs. It's one that Lucien really liked. It's called Lilacs, Grey Weather. In the original, it's beautiful, serene, the girls under the tree look like they are enjoying a peaceful afternoon. In Mallory's, there is something ominous about the painting. I couldn't put my finger on it at first, but these paintings were weird. They were kind of like an intellectual exercise; you wanted to figure out what about them was so messed up. Lucien left, but I didn't notice and commented that I thought it was the light. These two women were sitting in the shade of this bush, blissfully unaware that there's probably a bad storm coming. You know how the light goes a little different before a real doozy? He'd painted it in that sort of light. I thought I was speaking to Lucien, but he'd moved on to the Mona Lisa, (they only had a copy of that one in the originals room) and it turns out the man standing behind me, was Mallory. We had a long talk about his work. He said that for him, there wasn't a lot of fun in the actual creation of the artwork. The technique came easily to him. He said that the fun was in the mind fuck that art could be."

"Nice," Joe said.

"Yeah," she said, "What's funny was this guy was super charming. You wouldn't know that he had that sort of creepiness in him. Which sort of made him scarier. He knew it too. He said it got him laid a lot because men and women like to live dangerously. He propositioned Lucien and me after the show. I didn't think he was serious about it until the next day when he sent me an enormous bouquet of lilacs, and a card that said the offer was open, and Lucien's presence was optional."

"Were you tempted?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Molly said. "Like I said, he was exceptionally charming, but I was in love with Lucien, and I wouldn't have given in to that temptation. And there was something else."

"What?" Joe asked.

"His whole reason behind the exhibit. He said the challenge of the subliminal messaging, had made it his best work. When I read the card, my first thought wasn't that he had a lot of nerve, or that I would never cheat on Lucien. It was that if I went to bed with him because he gave me a bouquet of flowers and an offer, it would probably be good, but not as good as if he had to work for it," Molly said.

"Did you see him again?" Joe asked. Molly shook her head no.

"And I more or less forgot about it, until Perkin brought him up, and we talked about how he was able to manipulate our emotions with color," Molly said and yawned, "Anyways, that's probably why Mallory came into my head. Because he was one of the painters we discussed."

"The Bachelor Dog, huh?" Joe said.

"Yep," Molly said. "I'm a simple girl."

"You really aren't," Joe said with a soft laugh. Molly didn't respond. She was asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: A nice big chapter to get you through the long weekend. Please enjoy!**

Maggie's tip about the court ordered rehab was correct; Lucien was in a facility, but where, they didn't know. All records of his arrests were gone. It took actually cold calling judges who had been in session that day to find one who remembered Lucien and confirmed that he was doing a stint in rehab. There had been an investigation into everyone involved in his case because someone had to have disposed of the records. Everyone came back squeaky clean, and an audit by the cybercrime unit came up with no evidence of hacking. It was like the documents never existed. The only records left were the court stenographer's notes, which were locked in a case in her apartment because she was months behind in her transcriptions. That wasn't even unusual as the only one who could transcribe a court reporter's notes, was the reporter who had done them, and most were several months behind.

Ranger was the proud owner of the bench warrant that would allow him to arrest Lucien on the Contempt of Court charges. Ranger had tracked him to a facility out of state and had been waiting for Lucien outside of the center on the 18th of October, the day Lucien was due to be released, only to be told that there had been a bit of an administrative SNAFU. Lucien had been released the day before and picked up by his lawyer from the non-existent law firm.

Perkin Porkin was nowhere to be found either. They had looked into his apartment in New York and hadn't come up with so much as a stray hair or fingerprint. There wasn't even dust in the place. It turned out that a cleaning service had been hired to have people come in to clean every day whether there was someone in residence or not. They had no idea the last time someone had been in the apartment, but it had been some time ago.

Three days after Lucien's release, Joe and Ranger were standing in front of Molly's store discussing whether or not they should up her security even more now that he was out, when Joe got an unexpected call from the FBI.

"We have Brasseau in custody," Kody said.

"What?" Joe said, "Where did you find him?"

"Passed out in the foyer of his building last night. His blood alcohol level was through the roof, and from the smell of him, he left rehab and dove right back into the bottle. He's spent the night in the hospital getting rehydrated, and we're bringing him to Trenton now."

"New York doesn't want first crack at him?"

"Stone connects him to the double homicide. We're going to see if we can get a confession out of him in New Jersey first, and then we'll go after him for the fraud," Kody said.

Joe hung up the phone and passed the information on to Ranger. Ranger didn't respond, but he didn't look particularly surprised either.

"How beat up is he?" Joe asked.

"I don't know," Ranger said. "I haven't seen him, but drunks tend to sustain a lot of injuries that they can't explain."

"They get into a lot of fights too," Joe said, "At least my dad did."

"Yep. Given that Lucien's probably the only one who will be able to lead us to the real threat, it's lucky he didn't piss someone off so much that they killed him."

"Out of Curiosity, Lester has been out of state assisting on a surveillance team, right?"

"Yep."

"Would that team be in the same state that Lucien happens to have been in rehab?"

"Lester was already there when you told me about Lucien's rehab. I had him check out the facility, but he never went inside. He stayed until a relief team came to spell him."

"So it's just a coincidence," Joe said. "You didn't know where Brasseau was already? You haven't been watching him since he went in? If I were to go there tomorrow, we wouldn't find out about a doctor who did a brief stint at the facility, and left unexpectedly?"

"Nope," Ranger said.

"No, you wouldn't be that stupid."

"Thanks."

"Where is Lester now?"

"Lester has been in DC since we found out that Lucien was in Connecticut."

"Does he have an alibi for the period between Lucien's release, and last night?"

"Not one I want to have to use," Ranger said.

"Shaky?"

"Surgeon General's daughter," Ranger said.

"For three days?" Joe said.

"Yep," Ranger said.

"What about you?"

"Well it's my job to be looking for him," Ranger said. "So that's what I've been doing."

"And you just happen to be in New York again on the morning that the FBI's found him."

"I have my reasons."

"Tell me again how your guys missed him at the rehab facility? Weren't you watching it?"

"Car trouble," Ranger said.

"On a stakeout?" Joe said.

"They were supposed to be watching it during visiting hours, and I was assured by the facility that the place was as secure as a prison between the hours of 1700 and 0900. I let the men have the evenings to themselves. The morning Brasseau was picked up, they got a flat."

"Huh," Joe said. "Bad luck."

"Yep."

Joe wasn't buying it. Not for a second. Ranger would not simply take someone's word for it that a building was secure. And they both knew that there was no way that whoever had Brasseau by the short hairs, would remove him during visiting hours.

"Do you want to witness the interrogation?" Joe asked.

"I'm good," he said.

"And that's not at all suspicious," Joe said.

"Did you read the paper this morning? Margaret Rothes has terminated her security staff and is currently shopping for a new provider. What kind of businessman would I be if I didn't exploit my cousin's relationship with her to make a sales pitch? She has a free window in about an hour. If when I'm finished, you're still interrogating Brasseau, I'll swing by."

"When did you make the appointment?" Joe asked.

"Maggie called me last night," Ranger said.

"Is there anything you think I need to know before I go in there?"

Ranger shrugged, slightly.

"We'll compare notes after I'm finished," Joe said.

Ranger didn't respond, but Joe took that for agreement.

Obstruction of Justice. That's what this was; 100% Obstruction of Justice. Joe had absolutely no doubt that Maggie not only knew where Lucien was when she said he was in rehab, but Joe would sell his left nut if it turned out that she hadn't gone straight to Ranger when she found out what Lucien was doing. She knew that Ranger would be happy to ignore the law to make the bastard pay. Joe also knew that it would be a cold day in hell before he proved it. The thought sat very well with Morelli.

Lucien Brasseau had lost weight, his muscle tone was gone, and he looked soft. His complexion was sallow, and he had dark purple smudges under his eyes. There was an interesting bruise on his forehead, like he'd fallen and whacked his head on a table. His lip was cut, and his arm was in a sling. According to the doctors that had checked him out the night before, his injuries were consistent with falling several times and possibly being hit by a car. Given his blood alcohol level, that wasn't surprising.

Joe opened the file and frowned. "He was naked when you found him?" He asked.

Kody nodded.

"Where were his clothes?" Joe asked.

"In a dumpster next to the building," Kody said. "Covered in some truly disgusting garbage."

"Rendering Forensics useless."

"Yup," he said.

"Did he say why he was naked when you picked him up?"

"He told the guys who picked him up, to get out of his fucking apartment and when asked, said his clothes were in the laundry," Kody said. "Then he pissed all over one of my agents."

"Nice," Joe said, "Sorry I missed it."

The door to the observation room opened, and Joe and Kody turned to see Eddie walk in with a man named Dominic Lopez. Dom was in his early sixties and a member of IAB. He was a rare breed for a member of the Rat Squad in that most of the PD liked him. He usually worked cases where the victims were members of officers' families. He was tactful and respectful of the police he worked with, but he had a job to do, and he did it well. He was there to observe the interrogation with Joe. Joe was supposed to be hands off, but in the event, Joe lost his cool and tried to beat the shit out of Lucien, Dom would reign him in.

"We may need him in there if Brasseau isn't feeling talkative," Kody said after introductions were made.

"Why?" Dom asked.

"To push Brasseau's buttons," Kody said. "I have other routes I'm going to try first, but we know he does stupid shit when he's jealous. If I need to, I'm going to use Joe's carnal knowledge of Molly to get him to break."

"Do you think it'll come to that?" Dom asked.

"Dunno," Kody said.

"As a last resort only," Dom said. "And I'll record it on my own cameras, so there can be no technical difficulties, that prevent the interaction from being taped."

"You don't trust us?" Eddie asked innocently.

"I'm paid not to," Dom said. "Now are we going to do this, or should I get a coffee?"

Joe grinned, "We have documented his injuries already."

"Too bad," Dom muttered. "I've read his file."

Eddie and Kody left the room, and Dom went to the window to look at Brasseau again. "This is the prick that your ex was engaged to?" Dom said, "He doesn't look like much."

"His luck has started running out," Joe said.

"I thought I read that he was in rehab?"

"It didn't take," Joe said. "His blood alcohol level was a 0.23 when he was picked up in New York. He spent the night drying out and it was touch and go for a while as to whether or not he was too hungover to function."

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Eddie took the seat opposite Brasseau at the table. Kody lounged by the glass, with a file in his hands.

"I have some questions," Eddie said.

"About what?" Brasseau said.

"Molly Von Grimmelschaussen."

Joe grinned. Eddie had been practicing Molly's name since Dom had called and told Eddie he'd be running the interrogation.

"I can't talk about her," Brasseau said.

"Why?" Eddie said, "Lawyers tell you not to?"

"Fuck my lawyers. I don't give a damn what they say; the fucking bastards." His French accent was slight, growing stronger when he became more passionate, but for the most part, he sounded like he was from the Upper West Side.

"Not a lot of gratitude for the sweet deals they got you. They got you pretty much everything you asked for," Eddie said.

"But they didn't get me what I needed," Brasseau replied. "I told them I needed her jewelry. I bought her most of it. They were able to get me everything else; fuck I have half of her shoes as alimony payments, but they couldn't get me her jewelry. If they'd just done their jobs and got that, I wouldn't be here. None of this bullshit would have happened, and she wouldn't have…I wish I never found that fucking thing."

"Found what?" Eddie asked.

"Nevermind," Lucien said.

"Two people are dead. We know you're involved, and their families would like some closure, so I can't 'Nevermind.' I have to mind," Eddie said.

"You don't think I fucking know she's dead?" Lucian snapped, "I chased her out of New York. Max and I, we did everything we could to protect her, and then I fucked up, and now she's dead."

"Were you and Miss Stone close?" Eddie asked.

"Who?."

"The woman who was killed in the fire went by Corrie Stone."

"When did she start using that alias?" Lucian asked.

"It's not an alias," Eddie said, "We had her brother ID a composite drawing that a forensic anthropologist did up for us. It was Corrie Stone."

"Look," Lucian said, "I know her brother; I know him well, and if she were supposed to be using an alias, he would keep it up until his boss told him it was okay. You need to speak to Carlos Manoso; he'll tell you."

"Who do you think the body belongs to?" Eddie said.

"Molly!" he said. "My, beautiful, brilliant Molly! It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Kody walked forward and put a picture of Molly down on the table. It was one Joe had taken of her at the baseball game. "To be clear, when you say Molly, you are speaking about this woman?" Kody said. Lucien touched the image of Molly's face, and he broke down. He started speaking to the picture in French, his tone apologetic, but what he was saying, Joe had no idea.

"She looks as she did the last time I touched her," Lucien said. "I wanted to take her away that day. I wanted so much to…"

He started sobbing again, and then quite suddenly he reached for the garbage can they'd brought into the room, in case his hangover led to vomiting. He puked up his guts for a few minutes, while Eddie and Kody, looked on dispassionately. When he finished tossing his cookies, he went back to stroking the picture of Molly.

"Considering what you said to her that day, and what happened afterward, I'm surprised to see you so upset," Kody said.

"It wasn't my intention to hurt her. I thought I was alone, and I was going to tell her everything. But I saw them, and I had to be so cruel to her. I felt sick afterward."

"Who?"

"His people," Lucien said.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Eddie said.

"What is the point? She's dead."

"It'll help you get some closure."

"It didn't work in rehab; I don't know why it would work now."

"Because we're in the position to do something about it," Kody said. "We can get her justice."

Lucien kept his mouth closed and stared at the picture.

"Let's start with something simple. You said you had her shoes in alimony payments. What did you mean by that? According to Molly, she sold them to make the payments," Eddie said.

"I bought them from her through an intermediary," Lucien said. "I wanted her to have everything she thought she lost when it was all over."

"Why not just stop demanding alimony?" Eddie asked.

"I had to make it look good," he said. "Or he'd hurt her."

"Who?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know his name. I never knew his real name."

"Who is F4tb0ysl1m?" Kody asked.

"I used to be," Lucien said. "When I was a kid. Molly liked that song, Weapon of Choice and she was dancing to it when I chose the name. She's a terrible dancer, but she's cute when she tries…tried. Oh my God." He started crying again. They waited until he had control of himself and Eddie slid a bottle of water and a box of tissues across the table to him.

"There's quite a body count attributed to that handle," Kody said.

"That wasn't me. I know it looks like it was, but it wasn't. Someone stole it from me."

"Why don't you talk about that, if you can't talk about Molly?"

"She's why I started doing it," he said. Then Lucien told them a story.

Pierre Lucas had been hacking since he was a kid and he built his first computer. He came across as a stoner who couldn't tie his own shoes without help, but he was actually quite brilliant. Lucien had been friends with him since Lucien started at Ecole Jean-Auguste-Dominique-Ingres. Pierre had far more confidence than Lucien did, and he was popular with the girls in the school, so Lucien ingratiated himself with the more attractive Pierre, and they actually became good friends. At first, Pierre would attract the girls, and Lucien, hardly unattractive himself, would scoop up the leftovers. As Lucien's confidence grew, he didn't really need Pierre's help anymore. Then one day, they were sitting in Math class when Molly walked in. Pierre was about to call dibs, and Lucien said no. He said that Pierre could have anyone else, but Molly was the woman Lucien was going to marry one day. He proposed to her outside of a coffee shop that same afternoon, and she'd laughed, but she hadn't said no.

They were an item from that moment, and Molly always came first for Lucien, and he for her. He would do anything for her. She went away for the Christmas Holiday, and she came back to school a few days early because she'd missed him. He made love to her for the first time that night, and he hated leaving her after she fell asleep, but he didn't know when her roommate was due back from her break. He didn't want to get caught. When he saw Molly at breakfast the next morning, she had obviously been crying, and he was worried that he'd hurt her, or that she hadn't wanted to go all of the way and somehow he'd missed it. He went over to beg her forgiveness, and she'd told him that she was sad that he couldn't stay the whole night, but she had no regrets and sincerely hoped that it wasn't a one-time thing. So why the tears?

She had an assignment due on her first day back at school, and her teacher, Monsieur Parker was very strict. All projects had to be handed in on a floppy disc, and if you were even a minute late putting them in his box, then he slapped it with a 20% deduction. Molly'd spent most of the break working on her assignment, and she was going to hand it in before she forgot, when she pulled it out of her bag to find it sandwiched between two magnets. She had given her brothers magnetic construction sets for Christmas, and they thought it would be funny to erase her homework. To add insult to injury, when she went to open her computer to make a new disc, the laptop stuck to itself, and she had to pry it open. They'd poured soda into the keyboard at some point. She had some of her notes, but most of it was on her computer. She'd already spoken to Pierre who said he would do what he could, but the hard drive was probably fried.

Lucien loaned her his computer, and she called her father to tell him what had happened. The Colonel told her he'd send her a new laptop and speak to the boys. He promised her that they wouldn't get off and that they would have to write an email to her teacher explaining what they had done. She worked her ass off for the next couple of days but her assignment was late, and Parker, the hardass that he was, told her that only illness or a death in the family were suitable excuses for late papers, but offered to let her do an extra credit assignment to earn up to 10% back. She managed to get 8.5%. Lucien was furious.

Lucien was in the bathroom when he overheard a conversation between Parker and a new teacher. The new teacher said that he was crap at remembering names, and Parker said that what he did was print up an extra attendance sheet at the start of every semester, and he'd describe the students he didn't know in an additional column on the ledger. Then Parker would spend the time they were working, making up little rhymes about them. He'd do it on his computer, so it looked like he was engaged in something meaningful.

That's when Lucien went to Pierre and Pierre showed him how to get into the computer. The F4tb0ysl1m handle was born that night. They were in Lucien's room, and Molly was lying on the bed, on her stomach with headphones on, listening to Weapon of Choice. She was humming off key and attempting to move her bum to the beat while she did some homework.

Pierre helped Lucien hack into the teacher's computer and changed the poems of the more attractive female classmates to things praising their more exceptional attributes. They didn't do it for everyone, just a few people here and there. Then they swapped the file names of the proper class list and the one with the rhymes. The next day, her teacher printed off the list and handed it to the class monitor who was to take attendance. She saw the extra column and asked Parker about it. He laughed and explained his mnemonic system for remembering names, and encouraged the Class monitor to read the rhymes aloud. The class got a giggle out of it until she got to one of the altered poems and was horrified.

Parker put a stop to the reading, but it was too late. Half of the girls went to the Headmaster's office with the list, and Parker was fired. A few weeks later the Headmaster called Molly into his office. Parker's replacement was there, and he looked concerned. They had been informed of her difficulty adjusting to her mother's death, and the slip in her grades worried them. They wanted to help. She explained about the late paper, and the make-up assignment she'd written. They told her that Parker was being unreasonable, and asked her to resubmit the projects so his replacement could grade them fairly. The makeup assignment grade stood, and she got 95% on the original paper. She had no idea that Lucien had been instrumental in Parker's firing, she just thought that her hard work had paid off.

A little after that, Pierre and Lucien decided that the school's network security was weak, and it wouldn't be too difficult to hack into any part of it. They set up a lucrative little business selling tests, changing grades, etc. Nobody knew who F4tb0ysl1m was, just that if you emailed him with your little problem, he'd send you back a quote. You would drop payment off at a post office box, and your problem would be fixed. Lucien and Pierre agreed to keep it going for a few years after they graduated so that nobody would figure out that it was them.

Then one day in their first year of university, Lucien went to class, leaving Molly at home with what he thought was a bad cold. She had a doctor's appointment that afternoon, and he was going to drive her. When he came home to pick her up, her lips were blue, and her breathing was labored. He called an ambulance, and she was admitted to the hospital for severe pneumonia. They sent her home after a few days, and a month later she was back again with a new infection. She missed the entire second semester of University recovering, and that's when Pierre and Lucien fell out.

It wasn't just over the smoking. Lucien, a firm believer in Karma, strongly believed that it was the penalty he was suffering for what happened to Parker, and he was done. He was out of the game. Pierre said that he'd fucked up and he was sure that the police were watching him. He needed F4tb0ysl1m to keep active, while he kept his nose clean, so they left him alone. Lucien told him that Molly was his priority and that he'd have to find another way to get the heat off of him.

He didn't see Pierre again for two years, and then it was because of Molly. She knew that Lucien's parents were major fans of this artist that was going to be doing a show at the Lucas's Art gallery, and she needed a Christmas present for them, so she emailed Pierre and asked him if he would get them tickets to the Gala opening. Pierre mailed them to her and told her he'd see her at the exhibit.

Lucien decided to bury the hatchet and found him at the gallery. Pierre looked terrible, and he was going to approach Molly when he saw her talking to the artist. Pierre left without saying hello to her. After Lucien bought Molly's ring, he brought it to Pierre because he knew he'd found something special, and Pierre offered to do some research. After Lucien got the appraisal, Pierre said he'd be in touch, but Pierre changed his numbers, and he stopped returning calls. Lucien didn't hear from Pierre again until they were in New York. He was with an Art Critic his father wanted him to woo. Molly was working as an architect, and she'd left some drawings at home and asked Lucien to bring them to her at lunch. Pierre stopped by the office to say hello, and the critic, a man named Perkin Porkin saw the drawings. He was intrigued by them. He was particularly interested in her book of daydreams. Pierre said he needed a moment with Lucien, and asked Lucien if it would be okay if Perkin looked at her designs while they spoke.

They left Perkin alone in the office with the book, and that's when Pierre told him about F4tb0ysl1m. Pierre sold the business to someone willing to take over the alias. Only he'd recently discovered that this man was doing some dark shit with it. They'd not covered their tracks well enough in the beginning, and this guy was way better than they were. If anyone traced it back to the school, they would be on the hook for everything this guy had done. The new F4tb0ysl1m was willing to go in and clean up after them, for a price.

At first, Lucien rejected it, but then Pierre showed him what the new F4tb0ysl1m had done with the handle, and he decided to start making payments. The hacker started asking for more and more, and then Pierre disappeared.

"I thought the worst," Lucien said, "But I didn't say anything to Molly. She just assumed he'd dropped out of our lives again."

"But you saw Pierre again?" Kody asked.

"At the rehearsal dinner. He looked terrible," Lucien said. "He was strung out, and it was out of character. He liked to get stoned, but he never did chemicals. He told me he was being punished for something he'd fucked up. He said that the Art Critic that was in my office that day and had become a fan of Molly's wasn't just an Art Critic. He was F4tb0ysl1m. He said that this man had told him he was going to die a slow, painful death unless he found something of value to replace something Pierre had lost. He wasn't happy with money anymore, and that's when Pierre brought up Molly's ring."

"It's a helluva a ring," Eddie said.

"Worth a lot of money," Kody said.

"Pierre lied on the appraisal."

"It's not worth six figures?" Kody asked.

"It's worth more," Lucien said. "It's priceless."

"What?" Eddie said, "Why?"

"It belonged to one of the most famous Queens of England. It was a gift given to Anne Boleyn on the day of her coronation. After she was beheaded, the ring was given to Jane Seymour, who gave it to a friend as a token of her affection. The ring found its way to France somehow, and the last anyone saw it, it had managed to get to the Russian Court. It was thought lost during the Russian Revolution. Then when everyone believed that Anastasia had escaped, it was surmised that the ring had gone with her. Several copies of the ring surfaced in London in the forties."

"How do you know that Molly's is the real thing?" Kody asked.

"The inscription on the inside of the ring is written in an old French dialect. Everyone knew that Queen Anne's motto was engraved on the inside of it, but they assumed it was in English. Anne was raised in the French Court, and it was the language she spoke most often. Pierre had all kinds of proof as to what it was."

"Why didn't you just tell Molly about the ring? Why didn't you just ask her to turn it over?" Eddie asked.

"I wasn't allowed. This man is a sick fuck," Lucien said. "He told me he didn't want Molly alerting her cousin, or her brother, or the police, so I had to break up with her. He told me what I was to say, how I was to call off the wedding, and if I didn't, he'd kill her and take the ring. He said that if I followed all of his instructions, I could explain everything to her, and get her back."

"You could have gone to Ranger, and he would have gotten Molly out of there."

"You don't understand," Lucien said. "Porkin was calling from inside the party. There were hundreds of people there. I didn't know all of them. I just knew he was there. He sent me video, of his hand brushing the back of Molly's skirt, and he showed me a needle. He said it contained a nerve agent that would kill her in seconds. The needle was so fine, she wouldn't even feel it going into her skin, and she would drop dead without ever knowing what was happening. I didn't know if he was lying or not, and I didn't want to take the risk. I took her out to the balcony, and I was going to tell her to hit her panic button. That's when he told me that there was a gun trained on her heart, and for a moment, I saw the red dot on her breast. So I did what he told me to do.

Then I went back to my place, and my television was showing me footage of Molly. I watched her as the sedative she'd been given, wore off, and I watched her cry herself sick. I watched her for days like that. If I went anywhere near a phone, then he'd switch the video to a view of her window from a sniper's nest. I did what I was told. I stayed away from her, and then I filed for the divorce, and I fought her for everything. The judge gave it to me. Except for the fucking ring."

"Molly says that Perkin Porkin was a client of hers, as well as a fan?"

"Yes," Lucien said. "He came in all of the time. He even bought her a very expensive painting."

Joe looked at Dom. "She left that part out, and she doesn't have it now."

"They discussed art a lot and color. He liked to tease her because her taste in art was a little too cutesy or kitschy for him. She said that she really liked this other artist, Stanley Mallory but she'd never get his work because it was too cerebral and too creepy. She liked the intellectual challenge of his work, but would never buy anything of his, even if she could afford it."

"Why?"

"She said it was because once you figured out the puzzle, it lost its appeal. She said the paintings lacked depth, because Mallory, while a gifted artist, took the easy way out. Porkin didn't like that."

"Why?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know, but he demanded that she explain herself. She said that Fear was easy. Everyone is afraid of dying, and all of his paintings imply an imminent death, or pain of some kind, and that's what creeps people out. Love is harder to pin down. Perkin said he would have to think about that. Then he asked her if she had ever been tested for a neurological problem. I thought she'd say no. She didn't. She said that she had been diagnosed with Synesthesia after her mother died."

"What's that?" Eddie asked.

"It's a condition where one sense triggers another," Kody said, "Like hearing getting connected to taste, so that when you hear the name Kevin, you taste metal in your mouth or something."

"That's what Molly has?" Eddie asked.

"She felt color," Lucien said.

"Again something she's never mentioned," Joe said to Dom.

"Is it dangerous?" Eddie asked.

"No," Lucien said. "But it can be exploited. Which is what Perkin did. He commissioned Mallory to paint a portrait of Molly's mother, in colors. To anyone else who looks at it, they see a reproduction of Van Gough's Irises, but to Molly, it feels like her mother."

"How would he know that?"

"Molly told Perkin when he asked her how her condition manifested itself. She said that certain flowers always reminded her of her mother because they felt like things she associated with her mother in her memory. She said most of them were happy, but there were other shades she avoided, like a particular shade of hot pink, that she couldn't stand for the same reason. Perkin asked her to make him a bouquet of flowers that were her mother. Molly said she already had, and that it was her best selling design. He bought it and left. All of those colors were incorporated into the painting."

"There was nothing about a painting on the list of things you got in the divorce. Does that mean Molly has it?"

"No, it wouldn't be. Porkin made sure that everything that could be traced back to him, was erased from any legal records," Lucien said. "The painting is in storage with the rest of her things."

"So this Perkin, he was pretty obsessed with Molly," Eddie said. "Did he tell you to follow her?"

"No," Lucien said.

"So that was all you," Eddie said. "The interruption of her dates, and showing up at the store uninvited."

"Yes and no," Lucien said.

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"I don't want to talk about her anymore," Lucien said. Kody reached into a file and pulled out a photograph. It was one of Molly on the beach with Lucien. She was laughing, her head tipped back, her purple hair falling down to almost her hips. Where it had come from, Joe wasn't sure. He figured it had probably come from the condo when the FBI searched it after the Indictment came down. It was a cute picture of her. Lucien turned his head away from it, and then Kody put down another snapshot. A close up of Molly with some flowers. And another, and then another. Lucien stopped at the last one. It was from Cam's wedding. "I don't know this one," Lucien said. "She looks beautiful there. Where was it taken?"

"Doesn't matter," Kody said.

"Yes, it does fucking matter. I want to know where you got this?" Lucien demanded.

"I'll tell you if you tell me about the dates. How did you know where she was going to be?"

"Because Perkin gave me a clone of her phone," Lucien said. "I got every text, every call, every email. All of it."

"How did he get it?" Kody asked. "Molly's phone was heavily encrypted. It was protected from cloning."

"Perkin has a Phreak Phone," Lucien said.

"Fuck," Kody said. "That's a problem."

"What's a Freak Phone?" Eddie asked.

"I'll explain it later, let me just put it this way, if you have one, you don't need to hack into a phone to make a copy. It's not a traditional clone," Cody said. "Why did he give it to you?"

"He wanted me to hear her conversations about me. He wanted me to listen to her cry on the phone to her dad and older brother. That's when our friend Max got the idea to isolate her from everyone but Ric and Lester."

"Why?"

"She was really popular in New York. She was a big name, people were coming in and out of the store all of the time, and they would have followed her to the ends of the earth to get her to do their weddings or events. I couldn't protect her if I couldn't keep track of them all. So I cut her off. Max bribed a bank official to approve a $3 Million loan in her name, so she wasn't eligible for other loans. I intercepted phone calls from concerned friends, I deleted emails before she had a chance to read them. Eventually, people stopped contacting her. She opened the store in New Jersey, and I made sure she couldn't make it succeed. I thought Ranger and Lester would be able to keep her safe if I did that."

"Tell me about the man she met on the cruise," Kody said.

"There is nothing to tell," Lucien said.

"Yes, there is," Kody said. He dropped another picture from Cam's wedding onto the table. Molly in jeans and a t-shirt while she stood on a ladder, hanging flowers. Her navel was exposed, and she had a look of deep concentration on her face.

"Where is this?" Lucien demanded. Kody dropped another picture; this one a selfie of Molly with Maggie in the new store. "What is this?" Lucien demanded.

"Tell me, about the boat," Kody said.

"The son of a bitch fucked my Molly!" Lucien shouted, "He paid for it. What more do you need to know?"

"I want, details," Kody said.

"He called her mobile to ask her if she wanted coffee or tea, and she said neither, she didn't want to be up all night. She asked for juice instead. He said she might as well have the coffee because he wasn't going to let her sleep," Lucien said. "I followed him to the restroom, and I pretended to be from the cruise. I asked him if all cruises like that were boring, and he told me that the trick to them was to find someone single and desperate and then fuck your way through the trip. I asked him what he did after the cruise was finished, and he said that he usually ghosted them at the terminal, but he was in town for a few days for work, and he decided to hang onto this one. That's when I told him that Molly and I were getting married and he told me that she never said anything about a fiancé, but she did mention getting away from an ex. He left me there, and I guess he decided to ghost her after all. But I followed him to the parking lot, and he told me to leave him alone. He said, 'Look man, I get it, she's an Olympic caliber piece of ass, but she's not the only one. Let her go.' He gave me a card and told me to call the number. Candice would make me forget about Molly. He didn't understand what it was to be with Molly. That there was nobody like Molly. She was everything. So I followed him, I waited until he was alone, and I made him regret touching her."

"Was he the only one?" Eddie asked.

"No," Lucien said.

"Names," Kody said.

"I don't have names. There was an idiot at a bus stop who lied to Molly about what he did. There was another man who just didn't understand that Molly wasn't available."

"What did you do to him?"

"I pushed him down an escalator," Lucien said.

"Was that it?"

"I don't know," he said. "Most of them left when I told them Molly was my fiancé."

"Did you decide to kill Morelli's dog because you didn't have the balls to go after a cop?" Eddie asked.

"No," he said. "I saw it, but I had nothing to do with that."

"But the ballpark was all you," Eddie said.

"I had to," he said. "I couldn't wait anymore. I could see the way she looked at him. I knew she was falling in love with him. I knew she was going to be at the park, so I went there and waited until they were separated. Max was supposed to take her crutches so she couldn't get away, and then he was going to bring a wheelchair. As soon as I saw the chair, I was going to inject her with a sedative, and Max and I were going to take her out of the park and hide her. I thought it would work. I saw someone take her crutches, I approached, I destroyed her phone, so Porkin couldn't trace her anymore, and I started to tell her what was going on, but then security showed up, so I left. Then they met me outside of the stadium and the guy who had taken her crutches, wasn't Max; it was some guy who worked for Porkin. He was on the phone, and he needed to speak to me. He told me that I wasn't allowed near Molly until he said so. Then he sent me to Canada.

A few weeks later he called me, and he told me I was allowed to come home. He said he was bored with our game and Molly was mine now; I could tell her the truth, and I could give Pierre the ring. Max and Pierre met me at the airport, and we went straight to the store. It was closed, so I decided to wait. I saw JigSaw pull into the lot. I saw Molly go into the store, and then she was gone. I don't… I don't know much about what happened after that. The next clear memory I have is Max picking me up from the police station and taking me back to his place. The rest is a blur until I woke up at rehab."

"Which didn't work," Eddie said.

"I don't even remember drinking again," Lucien said.

"We're done for now," Kody said.

"You didn't tell me about those pictures," Lucien said.

"The one with Margaret Rothes was taken in her store yesterday," Kody said.

"What?" Lucien said. "I saw her go into that store! I know it was her. American women don't move like Molly does, it was her. It was…"

"A woman named Corinna Stone," Eddie said.

"Who?" Lucien said.

"A young woman, hand picked and groomed to be Molly's decoy in the event that you fucked up, and Porkin needed to follow through with his threat to kill Molly."

"Why?" Lucien said. "Why would he…"

"Do you really think that someone who has been stalking her for years is just going to grow bored with her one day? Of course he isn't going to kill her, not until he gets what he wants from her."

"Can I see her?" Lucien asked.

"No," Eddie said.

Joe watched Lucien through the window. She'd loved that mess in there. A lot. She wanted to spend her life with him, and he was a good actor, but Lucien Brasseau was a sociopath, and Molly was his obsession. The look on his face now was that of a man who fully expected that Molly would forgive him the moment she heard the truth. He'd ruined lives in the name of protecting her, and he was expecting gratitude from her. When she didn't give it, Joe had a feeling the fallout was going to be bad. Lucien was done talking, and he was now staring at the pictures of Molly. Joe could see the wheels turning in the man's mind, trying to figure out what his next step to get her back was going to be. Joe turned when he heard the door to the observation room. Kody was coming to join him.

"What do you think?" Kody asked.

"I think the bit about the ring's history is horse shit; it's a little too Dan Brown for me," Joe said. "I think it's more likely that he's being fucked with and he's so used to it by now, he believes it."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Kody said. "We need to talk, and then I think we need to bring Ranger in. Brasseau said a name in there that Ranger is going to want to hear. He's in charge of the hunt for this man, and I don't think it's a coincidence that he's connected to Molly."


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: I cannot tell you how crazy my life has been recently, but let's just say that the last months of school are intense when you have kids, as I'm sure any other parents can attest. Add a kid going through testing for learning disabilities, and deciding to break a bone, and another kid requiring physiotherapy on a weekly basis, and by the time you have any free time, all you want to do is stare blankly at the television. That being said, I have somehow managed to score a long weekend all to myself, and my first order of business is going to be editing the last few Chapters of Molly, and getting them up on FanFiction before the horde returns! Thank you to all of you for sticking with me, and I'm so sorry for the long wait between posts. Please enjoy this first short chapter while I work on the next super long one.**

Joe hung up the phone and looked at Kody. They were standing in Joe's office, and Kody looked rattled.

"What's the name?" Joe asked.

"Stanley Mallory. What do you know about him?"

"Molly's met him before," Joe said, "She's never mentioned a specially commissioned painting. But it doesn't surprise me."

"Why?"

"He propositioned her; she told me about him after Pierre was at the house."

"Fuck," Kody said and ran his hand over his face. "I wish I'd know that a long time ago. Tell me everything she told you about him."

Joe relayed the conversation, and Kody swore under his breath. "She fell into his game. This has nothing to do with Lucien or Pierre. This is about Molly."

"You're going to have to fill me in here," Joe said. "I'd never heard of him until Molly mentioned him in the hospital, and Ranger didn't think anything of it."

"That's because Molly's an Artist and anyone who knows anything about art, knows who Stanley Mallory is in the context of his work. He's a genius, and his work is often controversial and thought-provoking. Molly using him as an example of art that's cerebral isn't surprising, and Ranger would know that."

"So why are we worried about Mallory?"

"Because he's still in the same profession as he was before, he's just switched mediums. He likes mind-fucking people, but instead of painting, he does it through physical and psychological torture. He's game for either but prefers the latter. Molly didn't take his bait; he would straight up love that. He probably started digging into Lucien the second Mallory realized she wasn't going to take him up on his offer."

"He would play a long game like this?"

"Absolutely," Kody said.

Ranger arrived at the station and shook hands with Kody, "It's Mallory," Kody said.

"Fuck," Ranger said. "How? Is it me?"

"No," Kody said. "It's her."

"Explain," Ranger said. Kody filled him in, when he was finished, Ranger looked like he wanted to shoot something. "I should have shot off more than his fucking ear the last time I saw him. Did Brasseau say how he was tracking her?"

"He's not. Mallory or Porkin has a Phreak Phone," Kody said.

"Of course he does," Ranger said. "Did Brasseau say anything about an old Sat Phone?"

"No," Kody said, "But it wouldn't surprise me if he had one."

"What is a Freak Phone?" Joe asked.

"Phone Phreaking, with a 'ph,' was a type of hacking that involved using phone lines to do a bunch of shit." Kody said, "Phone Phreakers were notoriously capable of hacking early cellular technology, which is why in a lot of movies people say they don't want to talk over a cell phone because it's not secure. Now the encryptions are much stronger, so it's not a problem anymore. One of the things you have to protect you is an IMEI chip in your phone. What it does, basically, is sends a signal that's unique to your phone, in conjunction with your SIM card. If your phone gets lost or stolen, the cell phone company can blacklist the IMEI number so even if someone puts a new SIM in your phone, it still won't work. It also makes phones more difficult to clone, because your phone is usually registered to your network, which means it will only accept a signal from a phone with a corresponding IMEI and SIM."

"So he was somehow able to clone that IMEI chip?" Joe asked.

"No, he got around it," Kody said. "A Phreak Phone is a first generation GSM phone. See when cell phone companies upgrade their technology, they add it to the cell towers without disabling the old tech. The early, easily hackable tech is still there, and if you have that first gen GSM phone, you can use it as a backdoor to the larger network. You're a ghost that cannot be traced. That only gives you a way in. To get access to a specific phone from that point is like trying to find a specific raindrop after it's landed in the ocean; it's impossible. Impossible unless you have some way of identifying that signal. But if you have the right tech on you, all you need is to be in the vicinity of the phone you want to eavesdrop on while it's in use, and you can isolate the signal you want."

"So when Brasseau destroyed her phone by tossing it into the cup of soda, he stopped Mallory from being able to track Molly through her phone," Joe said.

"Yes," Kody said. "There are a limited number of these phones left out there, and we're trying to round them up to dispose of them properly, but we can't force people to give them up, because it's not illegal to own one."

"Why don't the companies just disable the tech for their own security?" Joe asked.

"Because of the contracts people signed when they got these phones. Some companies have guaranteed coverage for as long as 30 years maybe more. They can't shut them down. And even after the contracts expire, it's unlikely that they will shut down the tech, because it would cost a fortune."

"It's completely untraceable?" Joe said.

"Yep," Kody said. "He's not hacking the phone, he hacking the signal. He can track her, he can listen to phone conversations, intercept text messages, and if he's good, he can activate her cameras, and use her phone as a bug. She'd have no way of knowing. And Ranger's guys would never be able to pick it up. Literally, the only way to stop it from happening is to destroy her phone."

"The day Brasseau robbed her store," Ranger said, "I'd just given her a new secure phone. He came to steal from her, so she'd call me, and he could get the signal."

"Probably, and the kidnapping attempt was probably the same deal," Kody said.

"So, what now? Witsec?" Joe asked. "If this guy is as bad as you say he is, she needs to go into protection."

"It wouldn't work," Kody said. "We'd have to put everyone Molly cares about into Witsec too. Not to be blunt, but even if we could put Midas Maggie and her father into the program, it would have a catastrophic effect on the stock market."

"So what the hell do we do?" Joe asked.

"Everything we're already doing," Ranger said. "Molly is good at sticking with her bodyguards, and Mallory will not get close if he sees a Rangeman uniform. Now that we know it's him pulling strings, I'm willing to bet I know who Pierre Lucas is, as well. His real name is Pierre LaPorte."

Joe sifted through the pages on his desk and handed Ranger the photograph Molly found. "Yep, that's him. We need to talk to Molly. I need to know everything."

"She'll be here any minute," Joe said. "We're having lunch together."

"Call Mary, and tell her she needs to reschedule Molly's afternoon," Ranger said. "This could take a while. I want to watch the video of Brasseau's interrogation."

Finch knocked on Joe's door and stuck his head in, "Have we not made you detective yet?" Joe asked.

"No," Finch said.

"You're taking the next Detective's Exam."

"Yes, sir," Finch said.

"Book it today," Joe said.

"Yes, sir," Finch said.

"What do you want?"

"Big Dog just radioed to say that Molly is about one minute out," Finch said.

Joe stood up, "We have to tell her, but it's going to freak her out. Do you think Perkin is connected to Mallory?"

"We have a sketch of him," Kody said and handed Ranger a drawing.

"He's not ringing a bell," Ranger said. "What's his build like?"

"Sickly thin," Kody said.

"Molly has seen both Mallory and Porkin?" Ranger said.

"Yes," Joe said. "You think he could be the same person?"

"It's possible," Ranger said.

"Stone has spoken to a man who sounds like Stewie from Family Guy, and he says that Porkin has a completely different voice."

"Stewie would be Mallory," Ranger said.

"What does Mallory look like?" Joe asked.

"The last time I saw him, his hair was natural, which means he looks like Carrot Top. It's distinctive though, so when he's lying low, he usually gets a brush cut, and dyes it dark. I would imagine that's the route he's going now since he just broke out of Super Max."

"How?" Joe asked.

"It's unclear. They still don't know. I think it's most likely that Mallory escaped sometime during his prisoner transport, and that someone entered the facility in his place."

"What else did he say about Mallory?"

"That he painted something for her that would exploit her synesthesia."

"Her what?" Ranger said.

"Brasseau says she has synesthesia, and that she feels colors," Joe said.

"I'd confirm that with her, but it's not exactly surprising if it's true."

"Is it a secret?"

"I doubt it," Ranger said.

"Why don't I know about it then? Why didn't you?" Joe asked.

"She probably doesn't even think about it," Ranger said, "Do you think about how you perceive color?"

"No, but the other day we were talking about how she sees more colors than the average bear, and she didn't bring it up then…" Joe stopped. She'd never given it a name, but she did sort of talk about it all of the time. What did she say about her truck? The purple was gentle. She'd told Maggie it was quiet, which was the same way she described grey. She said that the dress her mother bought her, made her stomach burn like she had an ulcer, certain shades of yellow made her tense up. She'd described yellow as heavy. Probably because Lucien kept trying to push it on her as her favorite color. He'd never noticed it until now, but it made a lot of sense.

"Finch," Joe said, "Get Ranger the videos of both Brasseau's and Stone's interrogations. He can watch them in here while I have lunch with Molly. I'll see if I can get more out of her, about Mallory, and Porkin."

Joe walked out of his office just in time for Molly to walk into the Bullpen. In one hand she was holding a container with the leftover turkey meatloaf she'd made the night before, and Joe had requested for lunch because it was almost better cold. In her other hand, she held a thermos. She'd dressed in an outfit Joe had suggested, that included a pair of black, over the knee, boots, and a form-fitting black dress that stopped about an inch above the boots. Over the dress, she was wearing a cropped leather jacket, and she'd straightened her hair.

She looked gorgeous, but she wasn't looking in his direction. She was frozen still, and she was pale. The reason why was Lucien. He was being led back to lockup, and his eyes had locked on to Molly.

He elbowed his escort in the ribs and sprinted to her. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn't. I was just trying to keep you safe. I thought you were dead… I thought he'd killed you…" Lucien thrust his hands into her hair and kissed her, passionately. Molly dropped Joe's lunch onto the floor, and for one horrible second, it looked like she was going to kiss Lucien back. Instead, Molly put her hands on Lucien's shoulders for leverage and kneed him hard in the balls. He dropped like a sack of sand, and she looked down on him in disgust.

"Never touch me again," she said.

She bent and picked up Joe's lunch, stepped over a breathless Lucien, and walked to Joe. "Sorry about that," she said, "He surprised me."

"You have Synesthesia?" Joe said.

"Yeah, a little bit."

"You've never said anything before."

"Because I honestly forget I have it most of the time."

"Cool," Joe said.

"Now, say hello to me properly, so that the most recent person to kiss me, wasn't him."

"Happy to oblige," Joe said.

 _AN: While I made up the name Phreak Phone, Phone Phreaking was a very real thing, but it's died out somewhat. I read about the concerns regarding early GSM phones and the way they can be used as a backdoor into Networks, and thought it was an interesting idea, so I sort of ran with it. My knowledge of hacking, in general, is pretty limited to what I've read in a few articles, so I've taken some creative license with it. If you know better and it's complete BS and impossible, just go with it for the sake of the story. ;)_


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Hi! If you're just tuning in, and haven't noticed that this is the second chapter I've posted today, go back and read the previous one first. This one is super long, and I hope you enjoy it!**

Molly rolled things around in her mind while she sat next to JigSaw in the Cutlass. They had been stopped outside of the bank for about five minutes, and she hadn't noticed. Ranger wanted JigSaw to look at the ring. More specifically, he wanted JigSaw to validate Lucien's claims that the ring was from the 16th century. If this was all about the ring, then there might be something they could do to divert Mallory's attention from Molly. She didn't think it was. She was pretty sure that he'd been playing with her long enough that he wasn't going to give up quite so easily.

"You're ruining your manicure," JigSaw said.

"Hmm?"

"I haven't seen you bite your nails since you were thinking about quitting the architecture gig. What gives?"

She recounted what Ranger and Joe had told her. "You've met Fat Stan?" He asked.

"Yeah, once. It was forever ago, and I couldn't pick him out of a lineup now."

"That painting Porkin gave you is probably worth a fucking fortune."

"If Lucien kept it," Molly said.

"How do you feel about Lucien's reasons for doing what he did?"

"He's played nice before, and I fell for it. He was just as sweet then, just anxious to give me an explanation. Even if he's sincere this time, how could I possibly trust him after everything he's done?"

"Don't make the boss suck up too much over this," JigSaw said. "It ain't his fault."

"This time, maybe," Molly said.

She and Ranger had an argument in the police station after he told her about Fat Stan. He was pissed that she'd never mentioned meeting Mallory to him. She'd fired back that when he asked her if anyone stood out as weird to her, she didn't think he meant every man who'd ever hit on her since she developed breasts. She didn't know why she didn't mention Porkin giving her the painting. Lucien wanted it, and she'd not fought him over it. Mallory'd used the right colors but hadn't been able to capture the same feeling of contentment that she got when looking at the flowers. The painting was clinical and flat. She'd not told Porkin that because it was a generous gift, and she was polite. She hung it in the store, and then more or less forgot about it. He wasn't the first one of her customers to give her an overly generous gift, and at the time she as used to being spoiled by Maggie. Ranger hadn't gone for that story and wanted to know what she was hiding. From Ranger? A lot. From Joe? Nothing.

"You know what though? I've been sitting here for the last half an hour trying to figure out if there's a single time in my life, where I've been able to ride the high of something exciting, that didn't involve Ric coming and shitting all over my parade, and do you know what? I can't. Not one. I met Mallory before Ric got involved with him. So maybe he has nothing to do with Fat Stan's interest in me, or maybe he does, I don't know. But if Lucien is telling the truth, then Mallory has fucked with me for years, and can you honestly tell me that he would have done that, if it weren't for Ric?"

"I can't," he said. "Because toying with one of Ranger's relatives right under Ric's nose would amuse Fat Stan to no end. You can bet the Boss is kicking himself, and he'll have all of Rangeman looking to see how the fuck we missed this for all of this time. Just try to remember that all of your interactions with Stan, and Perkin, took place before Ric was able to put the kind of security in place that you have now. And remember, I've got your back kid. Even when I'm not with you, I've got eyes on you." He tapped his body camera. "The TV in my place is tuned to your protection's body cams, and I don't sleep much."

"I feel like we need a safe word," Molly said. "Like James Bond or something."

"Molly, I've been following you around for six years, give or take. You don't think I can tell when you're freaked out?" He said. "Now, on to more pressing matters; do you buy Lucien's story about the ring?"

"No," she said, "I tried to sell it, and had it reappraised by a guy at an auction house. There's no way that ring belonged to Anne Boleyn. He said the 18th century at the absolute earliest. And he was pretty sure, it belonged to the duchess Pierre said it did. The problem was the lack of provenance. Nobody wanted to touch it without one."

"If Lucien's right about it, I know someone who would be willing to take it off of your hands."

"Who?" Molly asked.

"She goes by the name Queen Elizabeth II."

"Yeah, and what am I supposed to do? Pick up the phone and say, 'Hey Liz, my idiot ex accidentally gave me a ring Anne Boleyn wore to her coronation. He's an asshat, and nobody wants to buy this thing off of me. Will you?'"

"That would be the wrong approach," JigSaw said. "But if it's the real deal, I know some people who would be willing to facilitate meetings."

"With the Queen?" Molly said.

"Maybe eventually, but probably just with her jewelers."

"I wouldn't have to change my hair back, would I?"

"I think you'd probably be fine," he said.

"I suppose we should probably do this," Molly said.

"Why the hell did you choose this bank... besides the fact that it looks like a shrunken version of Dawes, Tomes, Mousely, Grubs, Fidelity Fiduciary Bank?"

"You should have sung that, and, there needs to be another reason?" Molly asked.

"Yes," he said, giving her a look that said he'd tattoo his own balls before he sang a song from Mary Poppins.

"Because I could afford their safety deposit box rentals, and they were willing to give me a credit card that didn't have stupidly high interest rates," Molly said. "And the bank manager helped me figure out how to avoid bankruptcy at a time when it seemed inevitable."

"I suppose those are good reasons."

"But?"

"I don't like the security here," JigSaw said.

"Yeah, well not every place can be Fort Knox, and I do most of my banking online," Molly said. "According to Lester, their online security is top notch, so that's all I care about."

She got out of the car, and JigSaw followed her inside the bank, and she went to the reception desk. "I want access to my safety deposit box?" Molly said.

"Just one moment," The receptionist said. Molly liked the bank for its soaring high domed ceilings, and it's somewhat old world charm, and the staff was friendly when she visited. She turned to look at JigSaw who appeared for all the world to be casing the joint.

"Stop it," Molly said.

"These windows are glass," JigSaw said.

"As opposed to concrete? The point is to let light in."

"I hate it when you're scared; you turn into a fucking smart ass, and direct it at me," he said. "What I'm saying is these windows are glass, not LEXAN, and they aren't even particularly thick. They are normal windows, and I don't see anything to prevent someone from smashing them, and climbing in."

"Heavy iron bars that come crashing down from above like bloody great portcullises," a voice said behind them. Molly turned to see the bank manager, John Merrick, standing behind them wearing a blue pinstriped suit. He had black hair that he slicked back, and while he was American, he was an Anglophile and loved British expressions. He reached out to shake Molly's hand, "Hello, Molly. It's been a while."

"The convenience of Online banking means there's not as much need for in-person visits."

"More's the pity," he said. "Who is your friend?"

"My bodyguard," Molly said, "JigSaw, meet John Merrick."

"I've got concerns," JigSaw said. "Like why nobody has approached us while I've been marking camera positions and points of entry."

"I recognized your uniform and told them to stand down. I've been thinking of switching security providers, and your company is at the top of my list. The board of directors has been considering requesting an audit, but if you'd like to give me some preliminary notes, I'd appreciate it."

"I'll send you an email," JigSaw said.

"I'd like access to my Safety deposit box?" Molly said again.

"If I could have a word with you beforehand?" John said, "Your visit today is rather serendipitous. You're on my call sheet, and I see no reason why we can't kill two birds with one stone?"

"Okay," Molly said.

Molly and JigSaw walked back to his office. Where the main lobby of the bank looked like something out of Victorian London, the offices looked like any modern bank she'd ever been in. Plain taupe drywall, with anonymous, uninspiring glass-walled offices that were home to L-shaped desks, and forgettable grey cloth chairs. Merrick's office was a little nicer, with a large window, overlooking a parking lot, and a squashy leather sofa, in addition to his boring desk and chairs. He led her to the couch, and she sat down, feeling somewhat like she was being summoned before the principal.

"The last time we spoke, Molly, you were looking for a small business loan that I was unable to grant you."

"But you were able to help me in other ways, and I've been very grateful."

"Well, as it happens," he said. "I might be able to do something for you now."

"My credit has improved, but it's still not great," Molly said. "I don't…"

Her voice trailed off as she saw a copy of the Trentonian on the table, opened to the business section. There was a picture of Molly arranging some flowers, while Maggie was speaking to someone on the phone. The headline read, Reunited: Midas Maggie and Molly Von G; C Lightning Really Strike Twice?

Molly sighed, "I would like to think your reasons were based on my history with the bank, but obviously, that's not the case."

"I did some digging into your relationship with Margaret Rothes, and your previous business venture with her. It was wildly successful, and I think it's unfair that you are being punished for your former business manager's poor judgment."

"I appreciate that," Molly said. "I was quite proud of what I built. It's been a struggle, but I'm almost there again."

"Yes," he said. "I'd like to personally handle your business accounts, and…"

"If you would like an introduction to Maggie," Molly interrupted, "I'd be careful what you wish for. She is my business manager now, and she'll probably want to speak to my account manager. But I doubt she'll be complimentary about your service."

"We've been nothing but respectful of you, and we've helped you where we can," Merrick said.

"I know," Molly said, "And I'll put in a good word for you, but she's, and she'll not be pleased that you turned down my loan."

"Well that won't be an issue now," he said. "And for the record, it's not simply because of your relationship with Margaret Rothes. Your history with us is proof enough for me that you require further consideration."

"Thanks," Molly said. "I do have to get back to work though. Would it be possible to access my safety deposit box now? My assistant will probably be in touch to set up a meeting regarding the Cubed Roots finances."

"Whatever time is most convenient. We'll move appointments to accommodate you," John said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a key to a bicycle lock, and then he opened a drawer and pulled out a ring of keys, that was attached to a cable. He unlocked them with the bicycle lock key and motioned for Molly to follow him.

The safety deposit boxes were located inside the same room that held the entrance to the vault. The manager punched in a lengthy code on a keypad on a big metal door and used a key from the ring to unlock it. Once inside, he led her to the row of boxes that held hers. He put his key into a lock at the end of the row, turned it, and then punched a code on a keypad at the bottom. Molly put her key into the lock on the box, put in her own code, and turned the key, opening the drawer. He slid the tray out and handed it to her. She gave it to JigSaw and John led them to a little 10x10 room with a table and a couple of chairs, and then left them on their own.

JigSaw opened the box, and they looked inside. Molly didn't keep much in it. She kept the ring, a backup hard drive of her records from Von G, some personal documents, like her will, and that was it. Or so she thought. At the bottom of the box, was a large manila envelope.

"I forgot I had that," she said.

"What is it?" JigSaw asked.

"Negatives," she said. "A few years ago, dad scanned all of his photographs so he could put them in a digital frame. He said if I wanted, I could have his negatives. He kept all of his photo negatives. I used to give him all of mine too."

"Why?"

"Because otherwise, I'd just throw them out. Dad always said I would regret tossing them if there was ever a fire. He made me put these in here, just in case," she laughed to herself and handed the envelope to JigSaw. "Do you think Hector could make digital copies of those?"

"Yeah," JigSaw said, "I'll get him on it for you."

JigSaw picked up a creased stack of pages from the table (The papers used to be in one of the deep cargo pockets on his pant leg). He unfolded the pages that contained what information there was on the ring and fished a jeweler's loop out of another pocket. "You don't want to look at the ring back at Rangeman?" she asked.

"Nope," he said. "I'm on duty for a while longer. I don't want to be carrying it around with me if it's the real deal and it's what Perkin or Mallory are after."

She picked up a four-inch yellow pine cube, and he eyed it. "What's that?"

"The ring," she said. "It came like this."

"Did it?"

"Yep," Molly said.

She flipped the catch on the box. Revealing a purple velvet cushioned interior. She reached inside and pulled out a rectangular box, with an intricate brass frame, clawed feet, and thick beveled glass sides. "The store owner thought this ring was worthless?"

"He really did. He said that he had half a dozen boxes like this one that were all basically junk. It's a 19th-century French Jewelry Casket," Molly said.

Jigsaw reached into another pocket and produced a small bottle with an eye dropper, and he put what looked like a metal Petrie dish down on the table. He picked up the box, and he put it in the dish. He unscrewed the lid to the little bottle and put a drop of the stuff from the bottle on one of the claw feet. Nothing happened.

"Trying to clean it?" she asked.

He took her key from her, and he put a drop of the liquid on the key, it fizzed.

"Gold is probably the least reactive thing in the world. If these legs were brass, they would have reacted to the acid I dropped on them. They didn't, which means the box is gold, kid." He picked it up and opened it. He removed the ring and examined the box further, "and this isn't glass, it's crystal. Lead crystal." He pulled out the little purple cushion from inside and looked in it for something. He picked up his phone, and he attached a lens to the camera on it and zoomed in on an engraving, and took a picture.

"What?"

"This could be worth quite a bit of money, without the ring." He examined the picture on his phone and chuckled, "This is the jeweler's mark of George Wickes."

"I don't know who that is."

"He is the man who founded Garrard's Jewellers, who were the official crown jewelers of England for 166 years, including during the reign of Queen Victoria."

"You're joking."

"Nope," he said. "This is worth something."

He picked up the ring, and spent a good deal of time going over it, and making notes based on his research. "Your auction house guy was right, this is too modern to have belonged to Queen Anne. It is worth a fortune, though."

He put the cushion and the ring, back in the casket, and put it in the pine box.

They packed the box back up, minus the pictures and Molly pressed the pager button on the wall that would bring John back to them.

"Does he know he's named after the elephant man?" JigSaw asked.

"He's not. He's named after the dude in the movie. The elephant man's real name was Joseph," she said. "He corrected me when I made a similar observation the first time I met him."

"Mind if we make a stop at a bookstore before I take you back to work?"

"Why the hell not?" she said, "We're stopping to do everything else anyway. I'll get a stack of wedding magazines while you're doing your thing."

"You're such a girl," he said. Molly grinned.

They spent twenty minutes in the bookstore, she grabbed a giant stack of bridal magazines and a wedding organizer, because she'd secretly always wanted one, and she'd not been allowed at her last wedding. Jigsaw bought a stack of books, and the two of them went back to the flower shop. Despite the running around, she'd only been gone for a few hours.

Molly gave half of the stack of magazines to Maggie. Maggie looked up from her work on the computer and said, "Oh goodie! Girl's night tomorrow. You, me, these, and a barrel of wine?"

"Good wine?"

"Does it have to be?" Maggie asked. Molly laughed. Maggie had an affection for boxed wine. She especially liked it if you could get wine in a juice box.

"Can mine be from a bottle?"

"Yeah, I guess," Maggie said.

"Can that bottle be one your dad chooses?"

"If you insist..."

Molly went out to the sales floor and helped some clients. She periodically brought some out to the garage, where she had banks of fridges storing the majority of her stock. Molly would chat while building them a custom bouquet, and then send them on their way. This went on until four, and then she had meetings until six. JigSaw sat almost completely still in the corner of the room, reading, getting up only to check each client for weapons.

When she was finished and packing up, he spoke.

"You have Chromo-tactile Synesthesia," he said.

"I do," she said. "I could have told you that."

"It's why you can't cook bacon."

"Say what now?"

"Feeling emotions is a physical reaction. Chemicals release, things happen, signals are sent. We feel emotions using a similar mechanism that we feel touch. Which is why some of your reactions to colors are emotional. According to this book, it's possible for some responses to stimuli to change because of a strong emotional reaction. You associate the color of bacon with your mother's death."

"Mom made awesome bacon," Molly said.

"You know how when you're making bacon, you take it out of the frying pan, and you let it cook in its own juices on the plate?"

"Yeah?"

"The color when you do it is pretty much the color of the walls at St. Grace's Hospice where your mother died," Jigsaw said. "Your subconscious is good at avoidance, so when the bacon is getting close to the color of St. Graces, you find a reason not to be looking at the pan."

"My mother would be horrified to know that," Molly said with a laugh.

"The book says that there are at least 80 types of Synesthesia, but it's impossible to say how prevalent it is in society because people with mild Synesthesia often don't know they have it and just think that's how everyone goes about their life."

"Did you seriously spend your entire afternoon researching my neurological glitch?"

"Listen, kid, the most common Synesthesia is chromo-graphic. In other words, you see letters and numbers in different colors."

"That would get annoying."

"And thinking orange is prickly isn't?"

"It's fluffy actually. Which is why Bob is such a great mutt. I get a double hit of floof whenever I hug him."

"Why the hell is orange fluffy?"

"Fucked if I know," she said, "Not all oranges are fluffy, just some of them. Why did you look it up?"

"To see if it can be exploited. You said the painting Stanley painted for you made you smile, but Lucien was afraid it would wind you up."

"That's because they assume associating it with mom would upset me." she said, "It doesn't. Blue and purple usually feel pretty good, and for the most part, I like thinking about mom. It usually makes me happy. The painting makes me sad because I've been to Arles, and it's one of the most beautiful places in the world. It's famous for being where Van Gough painted. The light there is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's just… It's hard to describe. I always thought people were nuts for saying that, but it's true. It's hard to go there and not feel compassion for Van Gough. His work always makes me sad."

She finished packing when she got a text from Joe saying he was heading out to a crime scene, and that he wasn't sure when he would be home. She went out to see if Maggie wanted to come over that night, but she was already gone.

"Bummer," she said. She wasn't really into staying home alone. "What are the odds you'll be into a Bond Marathon?"

"Nope," he said, and gave her a hug. "The Boss wants a report when I'm done my shift, and then I have more research I want to do."

"Bah, you're no fun," she said.

"Tomorrow," he said.

JigSaw watched her lock up the store, then she got into her Up! And drove herself home. JigSaw saw her inside and hung around while she made dinner. At eight his replacement showed up. The replacement was some guy from Miami. Molly's round the clock security put a strain on New Jersey's guys. Leaf, as he was introduced to her, was a generic Rangeman. He was big, beefy, missing the muscles in his cheeks to smile effectively. Weirdly attractive. She knew better than to ask why he was Leaf, or what his real name was. All she needed to know was that JigSaw knew and trusted him, and that was good enough for her. She tidied up the kitchen and settled down with her magazines. At eight thirty, she sent Joe a text.

 _-I'm trying to decide if I need to wear something sexy to bed._

 _-That's going to depend a lot on whether or not I'm allowed to wake you up when I get home._

 _-Going to be super late? Want me to bring you some coffee? Dinner?_

It took a few minutes for him to respond.

 _-About to step into an interrogation, no idea when I'll be home. Don't wait up._

She decided to call it an early night. She went upstairs to bed and spent an hour lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Something about the texting wasn't right. That's when she realized that Joe only texted from crime scenes. If he were in the station and she sent him a text, he almost always called her. What was more, Joe usually called her when he had a minute in the evening. He hadn't. It was possible he'd forgotten, but he hadn't forgotten before.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so at risk of being a nagging girlfriend, she called his cell phone. It went straight to voicemail, which is what it would do if he were in interrogation. She scrolled through her contacts and found Eddie. He was Joe's partner before Joe became captain, and odds were that he was involved in the interrogation, observing. She called him, and he answered on the fourth ring.

"S'up Molly?" he asked when he answered the phone. Her name trailed off in a yawn.

"Joe texted to say he was in an interrogation. Do you know if he's wrapping up? Or should I bring him his dinner?"

"I have no idea," Eddie said, "I'm at home. He was getting ready to walk out the door when I left at five, so something must have come up."

"Damn I was hoping you were observing," Molly said. "Okay, I don't want to bug him if he's busy. I'll leave it."

"You sound freaked," he said, "Is something up?"

"No," she said, "I think I'm just paranoid. I don't do well in the dark, and I'm not used to sleeping alone anymore."

"Molly, the shit you heard about Mallory today would freak anyone out. Joe honestly won't mind if you go and crash on the sofa in his office if it makes you feel better."

"You think?"

"Are you kidding? You have half of Rangeman camped out in and around your house, and you feel safer with him? Yeah, it'll be real good for his ego."

"Joe's ego doesn't really need stroking," Molly said, "But maybe that's what I'll do."

She got off of the phone and got dressed. She went back down to the kitchen and started packaging up Joe's dinner, and she put on a pot of coffee. She filled the massive thermos she bought so she could do coffee deliveries when he worked late. That done, she brought a cup to Leaf. He grunted his thanks.

"Joe's working later than he thought; I'm going to run his dinner over to him," Molly said.

"Want me to drive?" he asked.

"No," she said, "I sort of need a minute to be alone."

She knew something was wrong the minute she got to the station. In the lot, was Lucien's BMW. He had been arrested in New York and brought here, so what the hell was his car doing Trenton? Joe's Jeep was gone too. She called Joe's cell phone to make sure he wasn't on his way home, and it went straight to voicemail. She tried again. Again nothing.

"Come on, Joe. Pick up. Text me. Something."

When she didn't get anything for another five minutes, she put her hand on the door handle, and her phone chimed with an incoming text message. She knew it wasn't going to be Joe, if it had been him, the phone would have sounded out with a loud, "Scooby-Doobie-Doo!"

The text was from an unknown number, that informed her was, "Maybe Carl." She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or even more afraid, but she opened it anyway.

 _-Hey Sweetheart, it's me. Standby for one minute?_

Relief it was. Joe's phone was probably dead, and he was borrowing Carl's to check in. Hell, Eddie may have even called the station to give them a heads up that she was coming, and was stressed. Her pinged, this time with an incoming email.

"Why wouldn't he just text me again? Or call me?"

The email subject line was:

 _Honeymoon?_

She grinned, "That's why." The email was probably going to contain some suggestions for lewd honeymoon activities.

 _Hey Sweetheart,_

 _This place is perfect. Little cabins. Private pools, and a clothing- optional policy throughout the resort! )_

 _Joe_

Molly laughed and shook her head. She was freaking out for no reason. Joe was obviously fine if he was sending her links to nudist retreats. She clicked on the link, and the screen on her phone became heavily pixelated and then froze.

"Shit," she muttered.

She powered it down, and when she turned it back on again, it didn't take her to her home screen. What she got was a surveillance video. Her heart started racing, and she tried to turn off the phone again, but the buttons were useless.

She was about to get Leaf's attention when a voice spoke through the Bluetooth connection to her car speakers. She recognized it, and it was niggling on the tip of her brain who it was, but she couldn't place it. She could guess, though.

"Getting his attention would be a very, very, bad idea. Watch the video, Pet."

She looked down at the screen again and recognized the police parking lot. The time code showed 17:05:38. Joe was standing in the doorway of the station laughing with Eddie about something. He was standing next to a uniformed officer Molly didn't recognize and was signing papers the officer was holding out for him. He finished up and was about to follow Eddie out to their cars when Finch came to the door and called out to him. Joe waved to Eddie and jogged back up the steps. He stood there listening to whatever Finch had to say, and whatever it was, wasn't good. Joe barked something at Finch and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone as he ran to the car. He was at the Jeep door when Lucien pulled into the lot in his BMW.

Words were exchanged, Lucien tried to hit Joe, didn't succeed, and took a solid right to the jaw as Joe hit back. Then a van pulled up behind Joe; Pierre jumped out of the back, stabbed Joe in the neck with a needle, and Joe went down. Lucien took Joe's keys from him and climbed into the Jeep as Pierre and someone who looked like their friend Max, loaded Joe into the van, and they sped off.

Joe had been kidnapped in the parking lot of the Police Station, and nobody had intervened. Nobody had seen, nobody had come to Joe's rescue. How was that even possible?

She jumped when Leaf knocked on her window. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Tell him yes," the voice said. Molly nodded to Leaf.

She held the phone to her ear, to indicate she was on a call.

"I'm not comfortable waiting in the parking lot like this," Leaf said. "I just got word from the boss that Brasseau never made it to lockup. Someone claiming to be from the DA's office said there wasn't enough to hold him, and they cut him loose."

"Tell him you're talking to Morelli," the voice said. Why was Leaf only getting word now? Lucien had been free for hours. He had probably been free while she was in the fucking Bank.

"I'm talking to Joe now. Just give me another minute?" Molly said.

"Yeah," Leaf said. "Be quick."

Leaf went back to the car.

"Useless bodyguard. Doesn't he recognize Lucien's ugly car?"

"He's new," she said.

"Useless," the voice said. "Watch the video again."

She pulled the phone away from her ear, and the video changed, it showed Joe, he looked like he was on the floor. He was unconscious, but he was breathing. Someone was shining a light on him, and he was lying on brown paper, the kind used to protect floors during construction. He stirred, and Lucien walked into the frame. Joe saw him and began to struggle, only to be punched so hard that his head thumped sickeningly against the floor, and he went still again. Molly stifled a scream, and her hands started shaking so badly that she had to put the phone down, so the screen was still enough for her to make sure Joe was breathing.

"I'm tired of playing games with you Molly Von G. Get the ring. When you show it to the camera, I'll give you an address for the exchange. I don't like to be cliche, so instead of having until Midnight, you have until eleven fifty-eight. Wear something elegant. And don't notify the police or your security, or I will kill him."

"My bodyguard knows I'm here. He's right behind me. He knows I came to drop off Joe's supper."

"Well isn't that sweet. Tell the goon that good ole Joe is on a stakeout," he said. "Keep me with you, so I know what you're saying." She put her phone in her pocket, and she walked to Leaf's car.

"Joe's not there. He's on a stakeout, so there's no point in dropping the food off," she said, "I'm going to go home, and I'm going to bed."

"Whatever," Leaf replied. "The sooner we have you locked up safely inside your house, the better."

"Agreed."

How she managed to get the car home without crashing, she would never know. She had to figure out how to tell someone what was going on, but the voice on the phone - whether it was Perkin or Mallory- was watching. She knew they were. She could feel it. How else would they know when to send her the text that stopped her from going into the station looking for Joe?

She didn't feel any safer inside of the house. She didn't like that she didn't know anybody in her house and that JigSaw had gone home. The people she trusted most to keep her safe, were nowhere near her, and she felt fucking helpless.

She tried to remain calm, to get her brain to think so she could formulate a plan, but it wasn't coming together. All she could see was Joe's face as his head smashed against the floor. She was standing in the kitchen, going through the motions of tidying up from dinner, hoping the routine of it would settle her mind when she got a text alert.

 _Ditch your car. I don't want them tracking you. I've already disabled the GPS on your phone._

She looked at the clock, and she didn't have a lot of time. What was worse was she had absolutely no idea how she was going to get the ring. It was locked in a bank.

"Ram's got a flat," Leaf was saying to another of her guards, "He's going to be another twenty minutes so you might want to call your date."

"Doesn't that thing have run-flat tires?" the man replied. JigSaw had given her his name, but she couldn't remember it.

"Yes it does," Leaf said.

"Then how does it have a flat?"

"If he's had a complete blow-out, it doesn't really matter if they are run-flats, now does it?"

"Well, he's fucked. He's not going to have a jack in the car."

That's when she got her idea. She went down to the basement for the toolbox and retrieved what she needed, then jogged out to the car to get the tire changing kit from the back.

"What's that for?" Leaf asked, "You planning on going to rescue Ram?"

"You gave me a brilliant idea," Molly said. "It's for one of the weddings I'm doing. I'm wondering if I can modify the mechanics of a car jack, to make it work."

"Miss Von G, has a minor in Mechanical engineering and she likes to incorporate it into her work whenever possible," the guard who was going to be late for his date, said. She really wished she could remember his name. He apparently knew her better than Leaf did. Would he recognize that something was wrong if she said something out of character? Better not to risk it. If Mallory and Perkin were stalking her, they would know if she tried to give a signal like that. But the safe word she teased JigSaw with, that would work. She just needed to bring it up in conversation somehow. "What were those things you made for that wedding you just did?"

"Heron fountains," Molly said. "Just simple little machines, but pretty."

She got herself a glass of milk, and put it in the microwave for a few seconds to heat it, and went upstairs to her bedroom and changed her clothes, pulling a thick robe over the black cocktail dress she'd grabbed at random. She opened the gun safe, retrieved her gun, and shoved it in her purse. Then she sat down at her computer, and she logged on to the Rangeman servers. She accessed security footage from the Cubed Root,and listed under the headings was, _Personal Molly Cam_.

She clicked on it and found the footage from JigSaw's body cam. She fast forwarded it to the time code of the bank. She knew the bank didn't use Rangeman for its security, but they usually had a sticker on the door that said who they worked with.

Maybe, just maybe she could log in remotely to Lester's account. She knew he kept strategies for bypassing all kinds of systems on his computer, so he could study them if necessary. With her brain working the way it was, she hoped it was a simple system because she wasn't sure she could do anything complicated.

The video showed a sticker for the alarm company, with a warning that stated they used a silent alarm.

 _That_ was lucky. "Keep it simple, stupid," Molly muttered.

She watched the video further and caught the code for the Door to the room that held the deposit boxes, and the code John had used to open her safety deposit box. She couldn't write anything down, so she memorized the numbers. That done, she needed to figure out how to get a message to Rangeman, while she knew Joe's captor was listening.

She went downstairs to the kitchen and put more coffee on; when she did, she picked up her car keys. She went down to the basement and stashed her bag with her gun and the car jack in the bathroom. Then she sat on the newly acquired sofa and scrolled through Netflix. She found the movie she was looking for and turned it on. A few minutes later, Leaf came downstairs to check on her.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

"Can't sleep," she said with a tremulous smile.

"Too much coffee," Leaf said and eyed her cup.

"I'm afraid of the dark; there's a psycho after me, and Joe's not here to protect me."

Leaf looked at the screen and raised an eyebrow at it. "Watching a movie about an art thief? Isn't that a bit thematic?"

"Ever since Ranger told me about what Pierre does, I keep picturing him as one of the men in the Trojan horse at the beginning of the movie."

Leaf sat on the sofa next to her. She had the Thomas Crown Affair, on. She figured Perkin would think she chose it out of irony, as a means of distraction. "I love this movie. I like the idea that he goes through all of this trouble to steal his own painting."

"He doesn't steal his own painting," Leaf said.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah, he donates the stolen painting back to the museum, but the painting isn't his."

"Well that just changed everything for me," she said, and Leaf cracked a smile.

"Next thing I know you're going to tell me it's Daniel Craig in this and not Pierce Brosnan and that I've got my James Bonds mixed up," she said. She wrapped a light throw blanket around her and she curled up on the sofa.

"No, you've got that one right," he looked at her with a slight tilt of his head, "You still interested in a Bond marathon?"

"No," she said. Her voice broke, and she was about two seconds away from crying. She needed to get a grip.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked. She gripped her keys in her hand, and she looked at him.

"Stress, it's done a number on my stomach," she said. Without looking down at her hand, she deliberately put her thumb over her panic button and hoped Leaf's body cam caught it. She didn't press it, because she knew what it was programmed to do. It would turn on every light in the house, and dozens of cameras would come into life, and she would start broadcasting in every Rangeman vehicle. There was no way this would be subtle, and Joe would be dead.

A few minutes later, she squirmed on the sofa, and she got up and quickly ran to the bathroom. She made wretching sounds in the toilet and she waited for Leaf's knock. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

"Just a few minutes."

She stepped up on the back of the toilet tank, flushed using her foot, and opened the bathroom window. She took her blanket and draped it on the ground, so she didn't mess up her clothes, and she tossed her bag outside. Once outside, she rolled the blanket back up and stuffed it into her gigantic purse. She climbed the back fence and went around to the neighbor's backyard. Only Joe had a completely fenced in yard in deference to Bob. The rest of them were more or less open. She left the neighbors yard, and ran to the end of the row houses, and flagged a cab.

"I need to go to the police station," she said.

"Everything okay?"

"My idiot boyfriend got arrested, and his buddy dropped his car off in the parking lot," she said, "He's not freaked out about getting busted for peeing on a cop's shoes, but he's freaking out that someone's going to hurt his precious car."

"Why didn't his friend just bring it home to you?"

"Fucked if I know," Molly said.

The cab dropped her off at the station, she paid him and went to Lucien's BMW. Lucien had coded door locks. He always used the same pin code he used for his bank account. Assuming he hadn't changed it, she could probably get in. She punched 7891 into the door, and it unlocked. She waited for the cab driver to pull away before she put her keys on the dash, knowing that Rangeman would track her keys, find the car, and come to the station to examine the security footage.

She walked out of the lot, looking for an older sedan. When she found one, she used a coat hanger to open the door, and then she took a screwdriver and popped the steering wheel column off, so she could hotwire the car. She located the wires that would turn the car on, and then she stripped the ignition wires, and it rumbled into life.

Her phone rang on the seat next to her, but she didn't have to answer it; it did that by itself.

"Tic-Toc. Tic-Toc," the voice said. It was higher now, and more familiar. It sounded like Perkin. She was sure of it. "I would have thought you would just fly out the door to save dear Joeykins. And yet you're dawdling."

"I had to ditch my security," she said. "Ric and JigSaw are watching everything, so it wasn't exactly easy."

"Do you have the ring?"

"Not yet," she said. "I have to get it from the firebox in the store."

"Well that's irritating," he said, "But then again, how could you have known you needed it tonight? You're lucky you didn't leave it with Rangeman. You'd have a helluva time explaining to them why you need it."

The lie worked. He wasn't tracking her position anymore. He was listening to her, but he wasn't watching her. The dial screen was still showing on her phone, the seconds ticking away, but he was still listening.

She put the car in gear and drove to the bank. "The store parking is a dead zone. You're going to lose me if I pull up in front. What should I do?"

"Park on the street; leave the phone where there is still a signal. You have seven minutes to get the ring and show it to the camera on your phone, or Morelli dies."

"I'll be fast."

She got out of the car, and she left the phone on the front seat and ran to one of the big windows JigSaw hadn't liked. She pulled the jack out of her bag, and cranked it up as far as it would go, and used the tire iron to smash the glass of the bank window and quickly slid the jack into the frame. The bars came down hard on the jack, but it held, and she put the blanket down over the glass and wriggled under the gate. Her first stop was the manager's office for the keys. She knew she could get into his desk without a key, but there was no way she was getting into the room or her safe deposit box without them. She used a pry bar on the door to the office and jimmied it open. The desk got the same treatment. She used bolt cutters to release the keys from the cable in the drawer.

She grabbed two pieces of paper from John's printer, and a sharpie from the pen cup on his desk. She wrote, "Help Me" on both pages, then went to the room to get the ring. Precious seconds ticked by as she managed to open the cabinet and retrieve the box. She grabbed the ring, leaving the drawer open, and put one of the pages onto the tray.

She had twenty seconds left to show the ring to her phone. She sprinted back to the car out of breath and said, "I have it."

The light came on above the camera, and she held up the pine box. The camera shut off, and a map popped up on the screen with a highlighted address for a hotel that had been under construction for years. She wrote down the address, under the second note, put the sharpie cap back on the marker, and tucked the note under the clip on the lid. She dropped the note out of the door onto the ground and hoped that the police would find it when they got to the bank.

With that, and the sound of approaching sirens, she pulled out of the lot and drove to the abandoned building. The project was in limbo after the construction company went bust, and the building was bought out by someone new. There was a crescent in front of the main doors, and she pulled in, up onto the curb, with only a few minutes to spare. She left the lights on, the vehicle running, flashers on, and got out of the car, with her giant bag.

She was glad she left the lights on because they illuminated the dark lobby. She tried to locate a light switch, but couldn't.

It smelled of drywall compound and dust. It was totally a cliche for a hostage exchange; for a man who didn't like that sort of thing, there had to be a reason why he chose here. She walked to the roughed-in reception area, looking for some clue as to where she was to go. On the desk was a piece of paper that said, "Fifth floor." She looked around for a security camera but didn't see one. The flashlight on her phone activated, and she used it to further illuminate the lobby.

There was something about the room that looked familiar, and it wasn't until she got to the stairs, that she realized it followed the floorplan of an office building she remodeled on paper for her amusement, in her spare time.

"Oh shit," she said. "Is it all just the one building or did you use others?" Nothing. She looked down at her phone. The screen was blank, and she couldn't turn it on again. It was useless for anything but a flashlight. She opened the door to the second floor, if it were the same as the office tower, the second level would be conference rooms. No conference rooms. It was a rough-in of a penthouse suite she designed for Maggie. One that Maggie never got around to having constructed. Even the marble fireplace at the far wall was to Molly's specifications. It was carved to look almost exactly like the one she dreamt up in her head. It was also the second set of plans in her book.

She didn't bother exploring the other floors and climbed the rest of the flights. She knew what would be on them. Whoever was redecorating the building, was going in the order of her designs in her book. The fifth floor would be one of the suites from Metalla. She opened the door and looked around.

The floors were covered in brown paper; the exterior walls grey concrete. There were reclaimed lumber cabinets for a wet bar in the corner of the room, the interior walls were just framed in. She could see the bathroom fixtures sitting in place, but not installed. A movement in front of the bedroom fireplace caught her eye, and she shone her phone light over to see Joe lying on the ground, his hands bound with zip ties, his mouth gagged.

She ran to him and checked his pulse; it was strong, and aside from what looked like a lump forming his forehead, he was okay. She kissed his cheek and used it as cover to pinch the palm of his hand. Hard. He opened his eyes and looked like he was about to struggle, but she shushed him and removed his gag before she reached into her bag. His expression was pleading as he looked at her, horrified that she had come. As if she could just leave him to die? Didn't he have any idea just how much she loved him?

She looked into his eyes for a moment and gave herself a shake. They didn't have time for this. She pulled out the wire cutters she brought for boosting the car and used them to cut his bindings. She heard footsteps coming so she took her gun out of the bag and tucked it into the back of Joe's pants, and covered it with his shirt. He gave her a reassuring look, and closed his eyes, feigning unconsciousness. She pretended she didn't hear the footfalls of the man approaching them and tried to rouse Joe.

"Please wake up," she whispered, and kissed him on the mouth. "Please. I need you." He didn't move, and she jumped when she heard the click of a revolver.

"How touching is this reunion?" The voice said, only now without the distortion on the phone, she recognized it. It was definitely Perkin Porkin. "Look at you? Such a handsome couple." She went to look at him, but he pressed the gun to the back of her head. "Don't turn around. Take the ring out of the bag, and throw your bag across the room. You won't be needing anything in it."

She grabbed the box and threw the purse away, as instructed.

"Now stand up and turn around," he said.

Molly did as she was told. She almost stumbled when she saw Perkin.

The man in front of her didn't look like a wannabe Lestate. He was wearing a rose gold satin tracksuit and high top sneakers with gold laces. He looked like a poorly dressed, red-haired, Stanley Mallory.

"You?" Molly said. "I thought you were working with Perkin. I didn't think you were…"

"Do you know how much fun I've been having? Manoso pisses me off to absolutely no end. The number of enterprises I've had to abandon because he's a fucking bloodhound and he's managed to get wind that maybe I might be involved… You though? Imagine my delight when I discovered that the delectable little treat I was planning for myself was his cousin? And I've been playing with you right under his nose for years. It's made you all that more delicious. I loved walking into your store in my bad disguises, knowing that because of his past fuck-ups, he had no way of knowing that I was toying with a member of his family."

Mallory motioned for her to move away from Joe, and any windows. He walked over to a construction lamp and flicked it on, bathing her in what felt like a spotlight. It burned her eyes after being in the dark for so long.

"You really are quite lovely. Do you like how I've built you up? You're good, Molly, and I wanted your work to get the attention it deserves. I had to kill an art critic for you to do it; it's been fun playing him too. You should see some of the things I've been saying. So easy to raise up an artist who really is shit, and take someone with talent and crush them."

"So I guess I'm not as good as everyone says."

"Oh, you're better," he said, "They only know what to look at because I've told them how to look. You really do have an incredible eye for color; I have a mind to teach you to paint."

"I brought the ring," Molly said. "What do you want me to do with it?"

He approached her and took her left hand, examining Joe's ring. "The good detective works fast. He's not an idiot like Brasseau."

"Where are Lucien and Max?"

"You don't care about Pierre?"

"No," Molly said. "Where are Lucien and Max?"

"Max, I'm afraid, is no longer with us. You see I told Lucien there was room for four on the plane. I told him that I'd promised Pierre a seat, which meant that he had to choose between you, himself, and Max. Poor Max didn't make the cut. Don't worry. It was quick."

"And Lucien?"

"He is with your friend Pierre at the moment, organizing our flight. You see, Pierre is very good at getting people and things out of whatever country you happen to be trying to smuggle them in or out of. It's about the only thing he's good at. Well, not the only thing…" Mallory grinned. "Do you know why your beautiful cousin never clued into the fact that my Pierre and your Pierre were the same man?"

"Because Pierre is a common name?" Molly suggested.

"Well yes, but there's another explanation, my sweet," he said, "Pierre stole Pierre Lucas's identity. The real Pierre Lucas got accepted into several good schools and our Pierre, bored with his tutors, decided to see if he could impersonate someone else. Lucas's parents even paid for him to go to school. They didn't have a fucking clue because he stole from a trust fund that never saw any action. Their rainy day fund."

"What about at LMU?" Molly asked.

"He didn't officially go to LMU. He audited courses because he couldn't get in," Mallory said, "It's not like he needed the degree. He was always going to work for his father. As far as official records go, it looks like Pierre LaPorte fucked around Europe for a few years, getting high, and then went on to learn daddy's business."

"That's actually not far from the truth," Molly said. She was fully aware of the fact that Mallory was still holding her wrist. He was gripping it hard, and it was starting to hurt. He was stronger than he looked.

He took her engagement ring off of her finger and flicked it away. It made a tinkling sound as it skittered across the floor, stopping two feet from Joe. Mallory picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. "Put Lucien's ring on, like a good girl."

He released her; she opened the box and went to kneel to put it on the floor so she could lift out the casket. "I don't think so," Mallory said, "I don't have you properly trained for kneeling just yet. Let the box fall."

Molly put one hand in and took hold of the jewelry casket and the pine box clattered to the floor. She lifted the lid on the crystal box and pulled out the ring. Mallory took the little chest from her and put it in the deep side pocket of his tracksuit jacket. "Wouldn't want to break that. It's quite pretty, isn't it?"

Molly stifled a whimper, nodded, and slid the ring on her hand. She'd never liked it, and now she just hated it.

"There it is, as advertised," Stanley said. "It's even uglier than it looks in pictures. Your ex is completely useless. His family had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry; beautiful, tasteful, things, and he bought you this at a junk shop?"

"They didn't give him handouts, and it was all he could afford at the time," Molly said.

"He should have sold it to someone and bought you something beautiful." She hated to agree with Mallory, but he did have a point there,

He took hold of her wrist once more and turned her hand over. His actions were slow and deliberate, and he kept eye contact with her as he slowly licked the palm of her hand.

"L'Occitan lavender hand cream," he said, "Oh we can do better than that. I'll have something custom made for these delectably dainty digits."

"Why me?" Molly asked. "If it's because of Ric, you should know, he barely likes me. Getting to me, won't hurt him. He never wanted me to be part of the family. He pays for my security because our grandmother would disown him if he didn't look after me. But if he actually cared, do you think Lucien would ever be able to get to me? Or Pierre? He didn't put extra guards on me until Joe started putting cops on the street, because he's locked in this fucking pissing match with him…"

"Oh, Pierre and Lucien have filled me in on your relationship with your beautiful cousin. As it happens, that you're related to him really is just a bonus. I promise you it really was a magnificent coincidence. I started watching you before Ricky even became a blip on my radar. I've wanted you since the museum when you were the only one who didn't need an explanation behind the purpose of the paintings. So I gave you a little test, and you passed with flying colors."

"Test?" Molly asked. "What test?"

"The lilacs," he said. "I saw your temptation and knew that with little effort you would be willing to join me, in my hotel room. But I wanted you to resist, and you did. I saw you toy with the idea of dialing the number on the card; I saw that little smile when you put it away."

"How?" Molly asked.

"I put a camera in the vase the flowers were delivered in," he said. "I've planted many cameras on you over the years."

She didn't even want to contemplate what he'd seen her do since that day.

"So, what happens now? You take me away on a plane, and we go someplace, and I'm just supposed to what? Arrange flowers for you, and put out?"

"Yes," he said. "But that would get dull after a little while, so there will be other things on the agenda. I've read that those with tactile synesthesia show uncommonly high levels of empathy."

"So?"

"I'm a sociopath darling; I don't have empathy. I get my jollies out of hurting people. You quit a lucrative job that you could have been very good at, to pursue a career making people happy. You, my dear, could not be more the opposite to me if you tried. I want to study you. I want to play with you, and then because I'm like every spoiled little boy out there, I'm going to break my new toy when I get bored with it, and I'll give you back to Lucien."

"Then what the hell did you want the ring for?" Molly asked.

"I don't want the ring," he said.

"Then, why?" Molly asked.

"Because I needed you to see what a useless bag of skin Lucien is," he said. "I told him that the ring is priceless, but it's not. It's exactly what Pierre thought it was, but by telling them otherwise, it gave them the hope of success. Hope is a powerful motivator. If he could get the ring, he could get you back. Then I apply pressure, let other men near you, make him desperate, and well, he never really was a good man was he?"

"He was once," Molly said.

"Never," Mallory said, "Molly, the first life he destroyed in your name was that teacher who was fired for having dirty limericks about his students on his computer. Lucien wrote those limericks. A good man doesn't do that. All of those dates he took you on after that, paid for through helping students cheat their way through School; breaking up relationships; obtaining blackmail material; planting evidence, that sort of thing. That's not the mark of a good man, my sweet."

He narrowed his eyes and examined her face. "Your skin is so pale, so flawless. Do you scar easily?"

She swallowed hard and was surprised that she didn't wet herself when he touched her. She had never been more frightened in her life; she didn't do pain well. She didn't do the whole stoic thing. She had reached her bravery limit, and the adrenaline that had given her the fight instinct seemed to say 'fuck this noise,' and had firmly relocated to flight. She heard the door open, and she looked around to see Lucien standing in the doorway with a garment bag.

He walked towards Stanley, and Stanley took the bag from him.

"You may go now," Stan said.

"You said I would have the chance to talk to her, alone," Lucien said.

"And you will," Stanley replied.

Lucien went towards the door, and Stanley, still holding the gun to Molly returned his attention to her. "Open the bag. Go ahead; see what's inside."

Molly unzipped the bag and looked at him, "You're sick."

"Yes," he said. Inside was a single sleeved, white silk cocktail dress. It was fell several inches above her knee, and the silk clung so that it was impossible to wear any sort of underwear with it. She knew that, because it was the dress she was wearing at her rehearsal dinner when Lucien humiliated her. She had told her father to throw it out.

"I'd like you to put it on now, Molly."

"If you were just going to make me change, I could have stayed in my pajamas," she said.

"But here you are, all made up, and ready. Your dress won't look incongruous on you. Turn around, let me unzip you."

She glanced at Joe. He didn't have a clear shot and Stanley could kill her before Joe could go for his gun. She needed to give him an opportunity. Joe was so still that Molly worried he was unconscious again. Stanley unzipped the black dress she was wearing, and he took a moment to lightly run his hand down her back. She didn't bother to hide the shudder or suppress the sob, that wanted out.

"Stop!" Lucien shouted. "You said that when you had the ring, you would give her back to me."

"I don't have the ring back, yet," Stanley said, "Molly is wearing it. It's Molly's ring. When I have her give it to me, then I will have it, and you may take your turn with whatever is left of her."

"You bastard!" Lucien yelled and ran at Mallory.

Stanley sighed as though he were about to deal with a recalcitrant child, and calmly shot Lucien in the leg. It was the distraction she needed, and she dropped to the ground as Lucien's scream echoed in the empty room.

She felt the gun press behind her ear, and she whimpered, just as another shot rang out. Stanley's body crumpled falling on top of her. She wriggled out from under him, grabbing his gun as she went. She stood up, and with shaking hands, she held the revolver on him. There wasn't a lot of point. He was staring blankly ahead, with an expression of surprise on his face, and a new hole in the middle of his forehead.

"Molly, he's dead! I need your help, or Brasseau will be too!"

Joe was taking off his belt when she got to him.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked.

"Bandages, I need anything for a bandage." He wrapped his belt around Lucien's thigh and yanked hard.

She didn't have anything. There was nothing in her bag, and the blanket was still at the bank. She looked down at Lucien's feet, and she took his shoes off, she tugged off his socks. She folded them and put them over the wound. "I think he's nicked an artery," Joe said. "You have to put as much pressure as you can on the wound."

She nodded and put all of her weight on Lucien's leg. She could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance, getting closer, and willed them to move faster. "I have to release tourniquet now because if I leave it on too long, he could lose his leg. Do not let go. I'm going to see if Mallory had a phone on him. I might be able to divert one of the sirens here."

"They are probably coming here," she said.

"How? He told me he hijacked your phone."

"I sort of had to rob a bank to get my ring. I left a lot of breadcrumbs."

"Shit," Joe said. He ran to Mallory's body just as the doors burst open and the room flooded with SWAT and voices yelling for them to put their hands in the air.

"MOLLY, DON'T MOVE!" Joe yelled when she went to comply. "He's got an arterial leg wound. If she moves, he bleeds out."

"Captain?" One of the men said.

"Yeah," he said. "Lower your weapons and go clear the building."

"This woman robbed a bank."

"Yeah," Joe said, "And she's very sorry. This is Stanley Mallory; he's on about a dozen most wanted lists, and he's probably booby-trapped the place. Clear the building and get a medic up here before this idiot dies." They hesitated, "GO!"


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: We've finally made it to the end of Molly! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. This story was fun to write and oddly close to my heart, so thank you for all of the encouragement and reviews. I've appreciated it so much!**

Molly had been awake for more than 24 hours. There wasn't a single part of her body that wasn't exhausted, and she just wanted to sleep. She put her head down on the table in the interrogation room to rest, for just a minute. She read once that only the guilty sleep and supposed that must be true because she was guilty. She'd stolen a car and broken into a bank. She was probably going to prison.

Mike Soules had been in the interrogation with her through most of it, but now she was alone while he spoke to the prosecutor. Joe had been taken to the hospital, and she'd not seen him since he put her in Eddie's car, and told her not to say anything until her lawyer got to the station.

She'd been interrogated for hours about everything, from her first encounter with Mallory, and her relationships with Lucien, Max, and Pierre, to the events of the night. And when they finished with that, they asked her everything again. It was the same over and over again, until the last round.

"You said you thought he was watching you, and yet you were able to retrieve your gun from the safe," Kody had asked.

"I thought he was watching me while I was outside the house, but I was reasonably sure that Rangeman would be able to detect any video broadcasting from inside my place."

"Why didn't you just write your bodyguard a note then, and tell them what was happening, so they could get the authorities involved?"

"Because I didn't know any of them," Molly said. "Ric has them all highly trained, and most of them are very by the book. If I told them what was happening, SOP for them would be to bundle me into one of their tank-like SUV's and lock me in a Safe House in the basement of Rangeman. There would have been nothing subtle about it, and Joe would be dead right now. If JigSaw were there, it would have been different. I could have written him a note, telling him everything I was about to do, and he would have helped me pull it off. He wasn't, so I had to figure out how to tell him what I was going to do, without actually saying it, and hope that he got the message."

"And how did you do that?"

"We'd been joking around earlier in the day about a safeword, so he would know I was in trouble if he wasn't with me. He said he was always watching the feed from my security's body cams. The safe word was James Bond. I put on the Thomas Crown Affair, told my guard, Leaf, that I liked how the movie is about a guy going through a lot of trouble to steal his own painting, and showed my panic button to the camera. I hoped JigSaw would hear me say, James Bond, in reference to Pierce Brosnan and realize that I was trying to tell him that I was going to steal something of my own."

"That's quite a long shot," Kody said.

"I know," she said, "It's all I could think of at the time, and clearly, it didn't work. But that's why I left the breadcrumbs for the police."

"It did work," Kody said. "JigSaw got to the bank before you did. He put a tracker on the stolen car while you were in the bank so he could follow you at a distance."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Rangeman was clearing the building, getting ready to close in on Mallory. When you hit the dirt, Manoso was in position, waiting for a shot but Joe beat him to the punch."

"What?" Molly repeated.

Kody grinned and closed the file. That's when he left the room. Mike had followed him out, to talk to him about what charges were being pressed, and that had been about an hour ago.

She had no idea what was going to happen next, and while the police had been really gentle with her, she was still probably going to spend the night in jail before she was arraigned. She wished they would just get it over with.

The door opened, and she didn't even bother picking her head up. "I'll be happy to answer more questions later, but please for the love of crap, just lock me up so I can get some sleep."

"Nah," Joe said, and her head snapped up. He walked over to the table and used his keys to unlock her cuffs. Then without another word, he put her proper engagement ring, the one he'd given her, back on her left hand. "I thought you might like a jewelry upgrade."

She jumped up and flung herself into his arms, and all of the stress and fear of the night came out in a flood of tears. Joe just held her while she let it all out. "Thanks for saving my ass," he said, into the top of her head. "But for the love of God, Sweetheart, don't ever do that again."

"I don't think I could if I wanted to," she said. "I've used up my lifetime supply of courage. I thought I was going to wet myself, but I was too frightened."

She stepped back far enough to look up at him and to brush his hair from the goose egg on his forehead. "Are you all right? Do you have a concussion?"

"I'm fine. The doc says I've got a hard head," he said. "What about you?"

"Scared," she said. "What happens now?"

"I take you home, and we spend a few days in bed," he replied.

"What about the charges?"

"The DA's not an idiot," Joe said, "You have an ironclad duress defense, so he's not bothering to press charges."

"If they aren't going to press charges, why was I arrested?" she asked.

"Well, you stole a car and robbed a bank," he said, "It's a little illegal."

"I did it to save your life," she said.

"Which is why you get a pass this time, but I'll reiterate, don't do it again."

"I promise," she said.

Joe led her out of the interrogation room and took her out through the back, to where Ranger was leaning on Molly's car, waiting for her.

"I thought I'd see Lester here with you," Joe said.

"Lester's in a time out," Ranger said.

"Again?" Molly said.

"What did he do this time?" Joe asked.

"He damn near shot the SWAT officer who had his gun pointed at Molly. Lester's taking a knee until he gets his cool back."

"I didn't even know you guys were there," Molly said. "Thank you."

"I've got your back kid," Ranger said. "Even when you don't need it, apparently."

"What's the word?" Joe asked him.

"I've smoothed the ruffled feathers at the bank by providing them with a free security upgrade. It's going to cost a fucking fortune, but they are going to keep their mouths shut. The story they are giving their employees is that last night was part of a security audit."

"Thanks," Joe said.

"I'd say no problem, but it's probably going to be a giant pain in the ass," Ranger said. "We owe her one though, so we're happy to do it."

"Owe who one what?" Molly asked.

"You," Ranger said. "You brought down one of the most wanted criminals in the world. Pierre is singing like a canary in Federal lockup right now. He's given them the locations of Mallory's hideouts, and all of the details of his escape from prison. He's trying to barter information for a deal."

"He's not going to get one though, right?" Molly asked.

"He's killed three people that we know of," Ranger said. "The Feds were willing to overlook his white-collar shit to catch the big fish, but multiple homicides are a different story. Not to mention attempted kidnapping and the assault of a handful of police officers. He's going down."

"Three people?"

"He set off the bomb in your store," Ranger said. "And he's the one who pulled the trigger on Max."

"Have you found Max?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Ranger said. "He was still alive when we evacuated him, but he'd lost too much blood. According to Bobby, it's a matter of when, and not if, at this point."

She should feel bad. She should feel remorse that Max was dying and that it was slow. But she couldn't. What she felt was numb. It was too much to process. Maybe later, when she'd slept, but at this point? No. He'd been instrumental in all of the pain she'd felt for years. He could have done something, and he'd chosen to go along with Lucien's torture. She wanted the sleep Joe was offering, and maybe in a couple of days, she would be able to think about Max, but not now.

"Can we go home?" Molly asked.

"You don't want to hear about Lucien?" Ranger asked.

"I don't want anything to do with him," she said. "Unless he's going to be let out of jail again, I don't need to hear it. That's not going to happen, is it?"

"Since the guy who sprang him last time was working for Mallory, that's not likely."

"Then, no," Molly said. "I don't want to hear about him."

Ranger got off of the passenger side door, and Molly climbed in. She looked out to see Ranger and Joe shake hands. There was an easy camaraderie apparent between them that she'd not seen before. It occurred to her it was the first time she'd seen them relaxed around one another. They weren't looking at each other as threats. Maybe because Ranger realized that Joe was well and truly off of the market now.

That thought made her smile, and she closed her eyes. She didn't remember the drive home, and she had no recollection of getting into the house, but when she woke up, she was lying in bed, with Joe, and she was curled up, tucked neatly in his arms.

It was dark outside, and she had no idea what time it was, and she didn't care. She sat up in bed and looked down at her fiance as he slept. It felt as though a weight had been lifted in her life. Tomorrow she would get up, she would go outside, and she didn't need to be looking over her shoulder anymore. She didn't need to be worried about someone popping out of the woodwork to make her life hell. No more guard, dogging her footsteps everywhere she went because there was a real threat.

It was all so weird. If she hadn't momentarily flirted with the idea of having an affair with an artist, ten years ago, she wouldn't be here. She would have been spared a lot of pain, and she would be married to Lucien, but she didn't think she would be as happy as Joe made her.

Bob whined on the floor beside the bed, and Joe didn't twitch, so she got up, and realized that she was in Joe's TPD t-shirt. She bent down and kissed Joe's cheek to thank him for the PJs, and then took Bob downstairs to let him out.

She watched him bounce around the back yard for a bit, and then come running up to her with a ball. She took it from him, and lobbed it away, bouncing it off of the back fence, where it skittered off into one of the secret dog paths in the yard. He went barrelling after it, and she grinned as she listened to him bark.

"He's probably pissed off at a rock or something," Joe said, behind her.

"No," Molly said. "I found a stone bunny while I was at the garden center last week and hid it in his little jungle there. He's trying to scare off the intruder. By tomorrow that bunny will be his best friend."

Joe wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned back against him. "I was having an excellent dream, and I woke up specifically to demonstrate the details of that dream for you, and was irked to find that you were missing."

"I've been gone for maybe three minutes," she said. "My dog needed to pee."

"He's my dog," Joe said.

"Please," Molly said. "He goes with me everywhere. He sleeps on my side of the bed, and he goes running with me."

"Yeah but he watches sports and eats pizza with me. That's an everlasting bond between guys that can never be broken."

"We'll just have to share him then," Molly said.

"Speaking of everlasting bonds, I'm thinking November," Joe said.

"For what?"

"Our wedding," he said.

"Why November? It's a wretched month for a wedding. The weather is nasty, everyone is gearing up for the holidays and pinching pennies, so they can't afford to come to a wedding, and unless you're getting married on Thanksgiving, you're not going to be able to get anybody excited about it."

"I thought it would be perfect because you wouldn't be as busy, and could take time off for a honeymoon."

"Ah," she said, "That's excellent reasoning, but do keep in mind it is only a month away."

"What would be a good month for you then? Because I don't want to wait until next November."

"March," Molly said. "But we won't be able to get married at Citifield. It'll be too cold."

"It'll have to be Madison Square Garden then," Joe said.

"Yep," Molly said.

It wasn't Madison Square Garden. The event spaces were booked for the dates they could coordinate, and while Maggie was willing to rent the whole stadium for the day, they decided it was a bit ridiculous. They opted for getting married in the church the Morelli's had been attending forever, and having the reception at a place Molly had stumbled upon while preparing another wedding. It was called Lofty's, and while it sounded like a sport's bar, it wasn't by any stretch of the imagination. It was located on top of a very modern high rise but had a distinctly 17th century, Georgian feel to the ballroom. There were soaring floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city below, and at night, the view was breathtaking. The place could comfortably accommodate 300 people, and it was just traditional enough in appearance to appease the Morellis, Santoses, and Manosos, but modern enough that the Colonel wouldn't scoff at it. It suited Molly's sensibilities, and Joe liked it.

Molly had helped choose the color scheme, and some of the finer details, but she was so swamped with work and other people's weddings, that Maggie, Angie, and Joe dealt with the rest of it.

When the morning of the wedding dawned, Molly woke up in the hotel room she'd shared with Maggie the night before, and looked in the mirror.

A year ago she'd been worried about paying her bills, and whether or not she was going to be able to keep her store opened. Now she had more business than she could handle, a house, a dog, a fridge full of food, and in seven hours, she would have a husband she adored.

She found her phone and texted Joe, to let him know she was up.

It rang five seconds later.

"Bob ate his tux," Joe said. "He's coming in his Mets Jersey instead."

She laughed, "I thought he ate his Mets Jersey the day we gave it to him."

"He did, but I bought him another one when I got you tickets to Bark at the Park."

"Oh," Molly said. "Any other wedding disasters I should know about?"

"Lester's tux doesn't fit him," Joe said. "It's really tight in the ass and thighs, so he looks like a Chippendale dancer. Like father, like son, I guess. Oh, and he's in a pissy mood because he saw his place card. It doesn't help that your dad asked why he was Angus MacSantos, and now your dad's calling him Angus, and one of your cousins is now suggesting that he grow out a mullet."

"You know what else?" Molly said.

"What?"

"The tight pants are very '80s."

"They are," Joe said, "I'll be sure to point it out to him. What about on your end? Any disasters?"

"Not yet, but the morning's still young, and anything can happen."

"As long as by the end of the day, you're Mrs. Morelli, I'll be happy."

"But it would be nice to make it there with minimal casualties."

"It would be nice, but a Morelli wedding is a lot like a Dothraki wedding; instead of deaths though, there's usually at least one fight, and if one of the men doesn't pass out on the dance floor, it's not considered a good party."

"Not considered good by whom?" Molly asked with a laugh.

"The Morelli men," Joe said.

"I'd better go," she said. "I have to get naked for another man before I get married."

"You could skip your massage and save it for after the wedding. I'm pretty good with my hands, you know."

"I know," Molly said. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said. Molly hung up the phone just in time for there to be a knock on the door, heralding the arrival of the glam squad Maggie had enlisted for the day Hair, makeup, massages, and nails would all be done in the room.

She was first to have her massage, and afterward, she had a glorious shower, followed by a manicure and pedicure. She had her nails painted a lavender chrome, that may not have been particularly wedding-y, but would look beautiful with the bikini she planned to wear a lot on her honeymoon.

Her makeup was kept simple, natural, with a soft smokey eye that would look good in pictures, but wasn't too bold for the gown she'd chosen. She wore a petal pink nude on her lips, and a peach blush on her cheeks making her appear pleasantly flush.

Her hair she wore in a smooth, classic, chignon at the nape of her neck, and the first crisis of the day struck when they couldn't find the decorative comb she was going to wear.

"I'll send your father to the store to pick something up," Maggie said. "As far as catastrophe's go, this is minor."

"Agreed," Molly said. "Honestly I doubt Joe is even going to notice if my hair doesn't have something sparkly in it."

She walked into the bedroom of the suite, and on a dressmakers mannequin was her wedding dress, waiting for her. She had opted for something simple, with no train, and no lace. It was a boat-necked, three quarter sleeved duchess satin ballgown, in ivory. It was classic, and what had really sold Molly on the gown, when she tried it on, was that it had pockets.

"The bow is new," Maggie said. "I like it; when did you add it?"

"After my second fitting. The sample dress was perfect, but the new dress was missing something. We played around with accessories and came up with this."

"It's a little, extra, just like you."

"I'm a little extra?" Molly laughed, "What about you?"

"I'm a lot extra," Maggie said with a wink.

The bow was made of the same satin as her gown and looked like something a cartoon mouse might add as an accessory to a dress. It sat at her waist in the front and had a remarkably slimming effect.

Maggie and two of the members of her glam squad helped take the dress off of the dummy, and Molly dropped her robe and stepped into the gown. Maggie laced the inner corset to pull everything into place, and then zipped Molly into the dress. "God, you're gorgeous. Joe's going cry when he sees you."

"No," Molly said. "My dad will cry. Joe will look smug."

"Why will he look smug?"

"Because he likes it when I look elegant. He says it makes him that much more proud of his ability to reduce me to a begging, disheveled mess who can't form coherent thoughts."

"So this gown is foreplay then?"

"Name for me please, one wedding gown that isn't?" Molly asked.

"Okay, that's fair," Maggie said. "I've never thought of it that way."

There was a knock on her door, and Maggie admitted Javier Santos. He was carrying what looked like a large flower box, and he put it on the bed.

"I'll leave you two alone," Maggie said. "I have to go check on the boys, there's a little detail I forgot to take care of before I finish getting dressed."

Molly watched her go and turned to her dad. She reached into her pocket and produced a tissue to hand to him. He took it and wiped his eyes. "You look radiant," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen you look this happy before."

"I can't remember ever being this happy," she said. "There's only one thing that could make this day better."

Her dad reached for the necklace she wore and fingered the ring on the chain. "Your mother is here," he said. "And I can promise you that she's proud of you."

She nodded and quickly retrieved her own tissue before her tears ruined her makeup. "What's in the box?" she asked, once she recovered herself.

"Open it and see," Javi said. She untied the blue ribbon on the box, and lifted the lid. "It's not a comb, but I thought you might like this better."

She unfolded the tissue paper inside, and her hands flew to her mouth, to stifle a gasp. "I thought it was ruined?" she said.

"Maggie and I found someone who could fix it," he said.

Inside was a cathedral length veil, made of hand ticked Irish lace that her great grandmother had made for her own wedding. When Molly's maternal grandmother had died, she left the veil to Molly's mother, for Molly when she got married one day. The veil had been kept in a hope chest at her parents' house for Molly's entire life, and when she got engaged to Lucien, they'd gone to retrieve the heirloom, only to discover that moths, or mice, had been at it, and it was in bad shape. She'd looked everywhere for someone to fix it, and they all told her it was beyond saving.

"It's so beautiful," Molly said.

"Your mother had to fight one of your cousins for that," Javi said. "She said that it brought one Molly a long marriage and a happy life, it would do the same for her Molly one day."

"It's perfect, daddy," Molly said, "It really is."

"Let me help you put it on," he said.

"We're going to need more people, it's huge."

The woman who did Molly's hair was summoned, and her comb was miraculously recovered to fix the veil to Molly's chignon, and now ready, she glanced at the clock.

"We should get going soon, or the Colonel is going to start to get impatient," Molly said.

"It's a wedding," Javi said. "They never, ever start on time."

"I know that, daddy," she said. "But he's really big on punctuality."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her father entered the suite. "Schatz, the wedding invitations said 4:30. If you would like to be on time, don't you think we should be getting a move on?" The Southern drawl was completely at odds with the patrician features, and erect posture of the Colonel. He was clean-shaven for the wedding but if he hadn't been, he relaxed his shoulders a little bit, and maybe cracked a smile, he would look exactly Colonel Sanders.

Molly snickered at the expression on Javi's face as he tried hard not to roll his eyes. He did not like the Colonel, and if it had been up to him, the man wouldn't have been invited.

"Aren't you going to tell her how beautiful she is?" Javi asked.

"Why?" The Colonel said. "She's always beautiful, a white dress that isn't fooling a damn person about the state of her virginity isn't going to change that."

"All right," Javi said, "Maybe you wanna tell her that you're proud of her?"

"For spending a fortune on an antiquated ritual, that really changes nothing about any aspect of her life? If she's looking to make it legal, all she needs to do is drop fifty dollars at the courthouse."

"You're such a romantic, papa," Molly said and kissed her father's cheek.

"I am proud of you, but it's because you've overcome a lot of nonsense in your life, and you've born it with dignity, and grace. You didn't let it break you, and it made you stronger. And I've told this before," he said.

"I know," Molly said.

"Good, now can we please get a move on?"

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the church, and she went to wait in an anteroom with her fathers while everyone got settled. When 4:30 came and went, and people were still finding their seats, the Colonel became visibly impatient.

"There are a lot of children at this wedding, papa," Molly said. "It takes a bit for people to get themselves organized."

"I don't see why we're going to two different venues," he said. "What's wrong with having the ceremony and the reception in the same place?"

"Nothing," Molly said, "But Joe and I are both Catholic, and we wanted a Catholic wedding."

"You know how I feel about church services," her father said.

"Are you afraid of being struck by lightning?" Javi asked.

"He doesn't like organ music," Molly said. "Which is why, there won't be any, even though this church has an utterly gorgeous organ."

"What's wrong with organ music?" Javi asked.

"It makes my feet sweat," her father replied.

"What?"

"My glitch is hereditary," Molly said. Maggie came into the room, with Mary, to be her bridesmaids. They had chosen their dresses after watching the wedding scene in Mona Lisa's Smile and decided they loved the cut, of the full-skirted, crinoline rich, teal gowns the bridesmaids were wearing, and then spent the evening talking about what they'd change about them. They lost the hats, and the shortened the skirts. The square neckline vanished in favor of a sweetheart neckline, and the teal, which looked terrible on Mary, became Kelly green.

Joe's mother and grandmother had instantly approved of the dresses and were pleased with the classic look that the wedding pictures would have. What they didn't know was that Maggie and Mary had tried on the dresses and been less than pleased with the results. The word, 'frumpy,' was tossed around a lot, and the dresses were scrapped. What they were wearing now, were floor-length, silk dresses, in the same shade of green, with a slight train, and a cowl back, that on Maggie, showed off a lot of back.

"Are we ready?" Maggie asked.

Molly nodded.

"No second thoughts?"

"Not a one," Molly said.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked. "I mean, I wouldn't blame you for running. My brother's a handful."

If her fathers hadn't been standing next to her, Molly would have made a comment about Joe being more than a handful, but they were, so she conveyed the idea to Maggie with a look, and Maggie grinned wickedly. "Those are not church thoughts, Molly."

Molly shooed her bridesmaids out, and she heard the music from the string quartet change. They walked down the aisle together, and then Molly took her dad's arm, and accepted her bouquet from her father. The colonel put his hand on the small of her back, to escort her down the aisle, because, to link arms with her would make him feel like a Rockette, and they took their places at the church entrance.

Joe was standing at the altar with a smug grin on her face, and she felt her face light up at seeing him. She stopped so one of the glam squad could arrange her veil for the walk down the aisle, and Molly bit her lip in excitement.

As far as Molly was concerned, there was nobody else in the church but them. Her fathers passed her off to Joe, and she kissed them each on their cheeks before she took Joe's arm for the last bit. "Hi," she said.

Joe was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie, and he had a couple of buttons undone. He hadn't been able to get around to getting his hair cut, so it was curling around his ears, and he looked edible.

"Hi," he said.

"What happened to your tie?"

"Maggie set fire to it with her lighter," he said. "She said it made me look too much like a Corleone."

"Can I be Mrs. Morelli now?"

"Yeah," he said. "Why not?"

It felt like it had taken forever to get to this day, and now that it was here, she had to focus not to wish the ceremony over already. The readings that had been so carefully chosen, seemed to take forever, and then finally, Joe was slipping her wedding ring on her finger, and her cheeks began to ache from smiling so hard. When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, Molly practically flung herself at Joe, whose kiss was only just barely church appropriate.

The kiss outside of the church, before they got into their car, was most certainly not church appropriate, nor were his whispered plans for the back of the limo, on the way to the reception. Plans that were thwarted by Maggie and Mary, who had to join them because their limo got a flat.

"So what are we having for dinner?" Molly asked as they waited outside of the reception hall for their guests to be seated.

"A surprise," Joe said.

"I'm starving," Molly said. "Like really starving."

"Let me distract you," Joe said, he was about to kiss her again, when Angie Morelli came out of the reception.

"There will be enough time for that later," she tutted. "Everyone is just about seated, and Bella is irate and going to have to be talked down from cursing all of the staff."

"Why?"

"Because the centerpieces aren't finished," Angie said.

"That's the whole idea," Molly said.

Molly had been freaked out about the flowers at her own wedding. She wanted them to be perfect, but she was afraid that the evening would be tainted by her inability to sit comfortably by while people moved her perfectly placed arrangements. So she chose a bunch of flowers that she liked, and each guest was given one at random to put in the vases on their tables. The youngest person at the table would be the one to spearhead the design, and since they made sure there was a kid at most tables, Molly wouldn't feel the desire to correct their work. The only centerpiece Molly designed was the one for the sweetheart table she would share with Joe, and Joe knew better than to fuss with her flowers.

"I know that, and I've explained it to her, but she's not interested in what you wanted."

"She's going to hate the food," Joe said.

"What's the food," Angie asked.

"A surprise," Joe said.

"Well your cousin is about to announce you, so please be ready. The sooner we can feed everybody, the better."

Molly and Joe walked into the reception, and after kissing in front of everyone again, and taking their seats at the sweetheart table in the center of the room, waiters came out pushing antique wooden carts loaded down with dozens of different kinds of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soups. Molly laughed at the food choice and kissed Joe when the waiters brought her a selection of sandwiches and shot glasses of their corresponding soup.

As soon as the food was placed in front of her, it was the signal for the guests to go to their nearest sandwich station.

"This is amazing," Molly said, as she dipped a corner her sandwich into a white tomato soup that she wanted to be alone with.

"Maggie and I had fun choosing them," Joe said. "It was like a weird wine and cheese thing, only it was grilled cheese and soup."

"What kind of wine do you serve with this?"

"Beer," Joe said. "The Colonel chose it."

"Oh my god," Molly said, "Everyone is going to be really, really drunk."

"There is a selection to go with your favorite sandwich," Joe said. "Would you like me to make a recommendation?"

"I'm okay," Molly said, with a chuckle. "I want more of this soup, though."

"Your wish is my command," he said.

Joe and Maggie had cooked up the idea of the sandwich carts after Molly had told them she didn't really care what was for dinner, brides never get to eat anyway; they spend the entire meal, socializing, walking from table to table, thanking people for coming. While there was nothing wrong with that, Joe looked at it as a problem he could fix. Instead of Molly going around the room, people came to her. Because the food was finger food, and bite-sized, there was no need to worry about it getting whisked away while you were eating, because a course had ended. Dessert would be served during the speeches and toasts, and Molly would get to enjoy her meal.

It was just about time for the toasts when Bella made it to the table with Angie. Bella was dressed all in black, as she usually was, but in deference to the occasion, she was wearing pearls and teetering around on a pair of kitten heels, that she called her stilettoes. She took Molly's hand in hers and gently patted it. "I know this travesty of a meal was not your doing, my dear. I will speak to my Joseph about it later."

"Oh," Molly said, "No, it's not a travesty; it's sweet! Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup is my favorite meal. My mother used to make them for Lester and me whenever we were celebrating something."

"I did not know this," Bella said. "Then I suppose it is all right. But be sure your guests are told, or they will be saying bad things about you."

"It looks like they are enjoying it a lot," Molly said.

"Well," Bella ` replied. "I will not stay for the speeches. At my age, I do not have the patience for such things. I wish to say goodnight to you bo..."

Bella suddenly went rigid and began swaying on her feet.

"Oh boy," Angie said, and rolled her eyes heavenward.

Bella started chanting, and then she slumped forward, and put her hands on the table with a clatter, nearly toppling two shot glasses of soup.

"I have had a vision," she said.

"In Italian," Molly added.

"Yes," Bella breathed. "I see a boy, a strong Morelli boy."

"I wouldn't call Joe a boy, per se, but he's definitely strong," Molly said.

"No, in your womb!" Bella said. "Mark my words, before Christmas, there will be a new baby in your house. I have seen it!"

"What you see is bloat from all of the cheese with dinner," Angie said. "We all look like we're going to have babies before Christmas. I can assure you that's not the case."

"You people," Bella said. "You believe nothing. My Joey, he believes me."

"I figure the law of large numbers say that if you keep throwing those darts, eventually you're going to hit a bullseye," Joe said.

Bella muttered something, and Angie shoed her away.

The waiter came around to the table to clear away the dishes, and to bring out the glasses for champagne, and Molly looked at Joe, "Can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Would you have a word with the waiter and have him swap the champagne for ginger ale?"

"Are you worried about what occurred at the last wedding we went to? Because that's not going to happen. I can work these shoes; we practiced, remember?"

Molly grinned, "Yes," she said, "I remember. I'm actually more concerned that you're going to be calling your grandmother Robin Hood, in about a month."

"Why?" Joe asked.

"Well that's when I go for my sonogram, and when we'll find out if we're having a boy or not."

Joe froze as the information took a moment to compute, then a big smile spread over his face. "When did you stop taking the pill?"

"I didn't," Molly said, "Remember when I got that flu after Thanksgiving, and I was really sick for a few days?"

"That wasn't the flu," Joe said. "That was food poisoning from my sister's cooking."

"Well, apparently, according to the doctor, we should have used back up birth control for the rest of my cycle."

"I bet it was after the Christmas Party," Joe said.

"Like we could pinpoint it to any one day?" Molly said.

"I was really on my game that night," Joe said.

"Not what I thought you meant by Secret Santa," Molly said. "You definitely get points for creative use of a candy cane."

Joe grinned, and hauled her over to his lap and slipped his hand just under the bow at her waist. She wasn't showing yet, but she would be soon.

"Are you still going to wear a bikini on our honeymoon?"

"I have a little green one, packed in a suitcase labeled Mrs. Morelli, just waiting for you to inspect."

"That's probably the sexiest thing you've ever said."

"Even sexier than when I talk dirty, in French?" Molly asked, and whispered something in his ear, she knew he wouldn't understand.

"Maybe it's a tie," Joe said.

 _AN: I will return to Saturday shortly! I will be spending a lot of time out of internet range this summer, but I will have plently of time to write so while I might not post very often, I've not abandoned the story. It will get finished._


End file.
